


Souls of the Dead

by SilverCookieDust



Series: For the Price of a Soul [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Child Murder, Demonic Possession, Demons, Depression, Dismemberment, F/M, M/M, Murder, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, Torture, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 100,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCookieDust/pseuds/SilverCookieDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, the dead don't stay dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: I couldn't figure a way to succinctly tag this so I'm mentioning it here--the rape elements of this fic involve one or more of the involved parties being possessed by a demon.
> 
> Also, the worst of the torture/violence/gore in this fic occur in the first few chapters. Depression/suicidal issues occur in the middling chapters, and improve as we move towards the end.
> 
> A Note on the Crossover aspect: Although this fic involves SPN elements and characters far more than the last two, readers should still be fine if you haven't watched the show; SPN fans will just be a little more familiar with some characters and situations. With regards to conflicting elements between HP and SPN creatures and magic, I have made compromises where possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Graphic Gore and Violence. Rape, due to one party being possessed. Child Murder.

**12th October 2011**

Tom Riddle's soul takes fourteen years to twist into a demon, a relatively short time by living human standards, but a long one by hell standards, considering that thirty days on earth is roughly equivalent to ten years in hell. But like all humans, he is eventually overcome by the tortures of hell and his stitched together human soul twists into a demon.

"Not a moment too soon," Crowley declares when it happens. "I've got work for you, Riddle, and I know the perfect meat suit to do it from."

Riddle doesn't like the idea of being ordered about, least of all by Crowley, who he holds a grudge against as being the reason Riddle's in hell in the first place, but he's spent enough time in the place to get an idea of how things work and he knows that getting to the top and becoming the King of Hell will take a bit of work, a little grovelling, and a lot of back-stabbing. And he will become King of Hell. He's Tom Riddle, after all, and Tom Riddle is nothing if not ambitious.

And the timing is good, Riddle has to agree with that. It's mere months after Lucifer, in a failed attempt to bring the apocalypse to earth, is defeated by Sam and Dean Winchester and locked in a special cage in hell designed specifically to hold him. With their leader trapped, the denizens of hell flounder and Crowley takes over as the new king, but his position, Riddle knows, is not secure. Unfortunately, Riddle also knows that he's personally at the bottom of the demonic hierarchy and it'll take a lot before he can manage to overthrow Crowley, so for now he'll play at obedient and plot behind his king's back, but with any luck someone else might overthrow him first. Just as long as it's someone Riddle can take out later when he's more powerful.

He is pleased to discover that the meat suit Crowley has in mind is none other than the body of Harry Evans. He could, if he wanted to, let Harry's dormant half a soul remain sleeping and unaware while Riddle takes possession of him, but he doesn't. He enjoys waking Harry and trapping him at the back of his own mind, able to watch but do nothing as Riddle takes control of his body yet again. Harry's attempts to take back control are laughable; as a demon, Riddle has far greater powers of possession than he ever had as a human; his previous possession of Harry's body gives him an extra edge that he wouldn't have over a stranger; and on top of that Harry doesn't have a lover to fight for this time. He has nothing but himself to struggle for and he doesn't care for himself enough to be able to overcome Riddle.

Riddle is less pleased to discover that not only is Harry's body still blind, but that it's buried some eight feet underground. He fixes the latter problem easily enough by Apparating to the ground above Harry's grave.

"Hello, Riddle," says a cockney accent. "I thought you'd got lost down there."

Riddle doesn't answer, scouring Harry's memories for everything he learned from the Assistant, and figuring out how to balance his use of Harry's human magic with his own demonic senses to navigate the world with a blind body, only to discover that he doesn't need to. Harry's learnt enough about magic to repair all his injuries save his epilepsy, the scars of the Dark Mark, and his lightning bolt scar, but hasn't rebuilt any magical nerves in his eyes for the stupid reason that he wants Draco to be the first thing he sees. So with no small amount of spite, Riddle Wishes in some magical nerves and connects them to the brain and two false eyes, giving him sight in both and the ability to look through things with the blue one in his left.

He takes a moment to look over Harry's body. It hasn't aged at all in the six years he's been buried—which is almost as curious as the fact that Harry is even still alive after so long—and is still covered in ugly scars and too skinny. Riddle pulls a glamour over the scars; he has no interest in going around looking like that.

Crowley's host body hasn't changed at all in fourteen years. He's still a middle-aged, averaged sized man with a receding hairline and a black overcoat. Riddle takes a moment to exercise Harry's interesting ability to feel magic and examines how Crowley feels to it. Harry's memories tell him that normally magic around humans is like a faint buzz, a small vibration as the magic reacts to a living creature, and around wizards it buzzes stronger and flows into them; on Crowley it's like oil sliding over water and he can sense the foreign presence inside his body, a smoky coil wrapped around the mind of the human Crowley's possessing. Not that Riddle needs Harry's magic to distinguish demon from human; as a demon himself, he automatically knows his demon kindred from human.

"I need you to go hunting," Crowley tells him. "You hated half-breeds as a human, didn't you? You should love this then. I need monsters—vampires, werewolves, rugarus, djinn... anything and everything nasty and mean that isn't demonic."

"What for?"

"Because I'm telling you to. That's how it works. I'm the King, you're the little bitch, you do what I tell you. Clear?"

Riddle says nothing. Crowley smiles at him.

"You're the baby, Riddle. This is your first time top-side since turning, so just do as you're told, get used to your new state of existence, and when you've spent a couple of centuries learning the ropes maybe I'll give you a promotion. We clear?"

Riddle nods slowly.

"Good. Hop to it then. Oh, and avoid the Winchesters at all costs."

* * *

_If I wasn't so angry I would laugh at the irony._

Riddle sits on the alter in a church, black robe splattered with blood, a snake slithering over his hand, a large crucifix behind him, and the mutilated bodies of two priests and a dozen alter boys on the floor and tossed over the pews. They're not monsters, but he'll get around to that when he's ready. He wants to experiment first, exercise his new demonic powers, see what it's like. He's not impressed. There's nothing he can do that he can't with Harry's mortal magic, although he does have the useful ability to strengthen Harry's body beyond any human limits. He discovers that when one of the older alter boys smashes a heavy crucifix into his chest with enough force to break several ribs and puncture a lung, but while Riddle staggers from the impact, he still straightens up, takes the crucifix from the boy, and slams it into his face so hard it kills him instantly. This skill also works against Harry's epilepsy, albeit not perfectly. He can't stop the seizures occurring and he has an awareness of them that Harry doesn't, but he can ignore and suppress the effects of the focal seizures, and even subdue most of the effects of the generalised seizure, though they make his movements stiff and jerky.

He doesn't even get to scare people by turning his eyes completely black like most demons can, as Harry's false eyes negate the effect. He's even disappointed by the church; despite what he was told as a child growing up in the orphanage, he finds no sign of God or His presence in the church and he's not smote down just by crossing the threshold. The most dangerous thing inside is the font of holy water by the entrance, which burns his skin as though it's boiling, and the one priest who starts to chant an exorcism that would wrench Riddle from Harry's body and send him straight back to hell. Riddle rips out his vocals chords and kills him slowly.

" _It is quite ironic, isn't it?_ " Riddle hisses in Parseltongue, watching the snake slither up his arm. He's glad to find his demonism hasn't taken that ability from him. He's always been fond of snakes. " _Here we are again, you and me inside this body, one of us rendered to little more than a voice inside the head of the other._ "

_That, and the one in control is forced to obey the orders of a man he hates. If you can call Crowley a man._

Riddle hisses in displeasure and the snake responds with a hiss of companionship, a wordless offer to aid his brethren. Riddle lifts his other hand and strokes the animal's head, soothing it.

_You know what else is ironic? You hated everything not purely magical—Muggles, Muggleborns, half-human beings—and now you're one of them._

" _True, I might possess a half-blood—_ "

 _No, no, no,_ Harry replies, humour evident in his tone. _That's not what I'm talking about and you know it. You're not human. You're a demon, a twisted, mutilated spirit that's just a shadow of what you once were. You're less of a human now than you were with your soul torn into pieces. You've become that which you hate, Riddle._

Riddle takes the snake from his arm, tosses it into the air and sets it alight, listening to its pained hissing as it burns up before it's nothing but ashes which scatter across the church.

"And what about you?" he murmurs in English. "You have spent six years buried in the ground. I wonder why that is, hmm? Why did Lucius never dig you up and wake you? Maybe the Aurors caught up with him and he died or got hauled back to Azkaban. Do you think that's what happened?"

There's no response from Harry. Riddle smiles, hopping off the alter and walking slowly down the aisle.

"Me neither," Riddle says. "You know what I think, Harry? I think he abandoned you. He had what he needed—that book of demons wasn't in your pocket when I woke you up—and you had that lovely black cat when you faked your death, so what's the bet that Lucius walked away, sold his soul for Draco, and left you in the ground?"

He reaches the doors of the church and throws them open, looking out into the sunlit car park beyond, smiling as he stalks out, hearing a voice from off to one side notice the blood on his clothes and start wondering. He's crossed the car park by the time he hears the screaming and knows the bodies in the church have been found.

"Shall we go and find out?"

* * *

Riddle laughs as Harry rages inside his head. They stand in the corner of the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor, invisible to the two figures on the bed, but with a perfect view of both young men. One is Draco, looking barely over twenty and still beautiful. He's on his back, completely naked with his knees pulled up, body slicked with sweat and mouth open in a pleasurable moan as the second man fucks him.

Or rather, the demon. He looks like a man, little older than Draco, brown-haired, handsome, and well-toned, but Riddle knows instantly that the man is a demon.

"It looks like I was right," Riddle says to Harry gleefully. "Lucius brought back Draco and left you."

 _Stop it!_ Harry demands. _Stop him! He's raping him, make him stop!_

"Rape? It looks to me like Draco's enjoying himself. It sounds like it too—listen, he's begging for it. And you like watching other people, don't you, Harry? So I think we'll just stand here and watch."

Harry screams and Riddle feels him thrashing around, desperately trying to take back control of his body or magic and failing at both. Riddle leans against the wall, folding his arms over his chest.

"I thought about what I was going to do if we found Draco alive," Riddle comments. "I thought about killing him, skinning him slowly inch by inch, making his insides boil one organ at time, then healing him and starting over just to draw things out. I didn't think about fucking him though. Maybe I should, when my fellow demon is finished with him of course. What do you think? Should I pretend to be you and make tender love to him, or pretend to be you and fuck him so hard he bleeds and begs me to stop?"

The glass in the bedroom's two windows shatter, making not only Draco and the demon jump but Riddle as well. For a moment all three stare at the empty holes, then Draco asks without taking his eyes from it, "Was that you?"

"I don't think so," the demon replies. "But who knows?" He cups Draco's face with one hand and tugs his face around to look at him again, bending down to kiss him as he resumes moving. Draco moves with him, but his enthusiasm for what they're doing is clearly gone and when they finish, he gets up, shrugging off the demon's attempts to tug him back into bed, and repairs the window with a flick of his wand before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom.

"Time to go," Riddle mutters, more shaken than he cares to admit by Harry's emotional influence on his magic. "I hope you enjoyed that, Harry."

* * *

Riddle visits Coleford as well, but Snape and Hermione have moved and an elderly couple now live in Black Stag House.

"Pity," Riddle says as he leaves. "Crowley said he wants monsters; I was going to take him your daddy."

_I hate you. I hate you and when I get back control of my magic I'm going to kill you far more painfully than I did last time._

"I'm a demon, Harry. You can't kill me."

_I'll find a way. I don't care how long it takes, I will find a way to kill you even if it means following you to hell and killing you there. I will do it._

"Keep telling yourself that. Now where do I find monsters?"

* * *

Riddle does the work Crowley sets him, hunting down part-human or inhuman creatures from all over Europe, many of which Harry's never actually heard of. He catches a centaur, a veela, and a mermaid—with difficulty—but he also catches a djinn, a being who kidnaps humans and drugs them with a venom to mentally trap them in a dream world while the djinn gradually drains them of blood; a shtriga, an Albanian creature that drains the life-force from children, not dissimilar to Dementors; and a rakshasa, a shape-shifting creature that feasts on human flesh.

But for every creature he captures, Riddle kills several more humans. They're always Muggles, but beyond that they vary wildly. Sometimes he'll snatch someone off the street, secret them away somewhere isolated, and spend extended periods of time torturing them before he kills them. Other times he breaks into a home and slaughters entire families, making a game of locking down the house and scaring them into running and hiding, calling out taunts as he hunts them down. Inside his head, Harry screams and shouts, tries to take back control, and begs and pleads with Riddle to stop hurting them. Riddle never gives in; Harry's reaction is the best part of it all.

* * *

A few weeks after the possession, Riddle learns how to put Harry to sleep—that is, to suppress him so much that Harry's completely unaware of what's happening and unable to speak. He doesn't use it often, just occasionally when Harry's shouting, pleading, and pointless threats become irritating.

He uses it when he goes to visit Draco again, though. Riddle doesn't kill him—he does plan to, eventually, but he wants to do it when Harry starts to give up hope of ever stopping Riddle and stops fighting him so much. Riddle has every intention of dragging things out when he does do it, of lavishing worlds of pain on Draco, brutalising him in every possible manner and never once giving any indication that he's not Harry until the very end. Maybe not even then. He might let Draco die believing the boy he once loved is actually a monster willing to murder him in the most violent ways.

But for this visit, Riddle puts Harry to sleep, creeps his way into Malfoy Manor late at night, and invades Draco's mind to discover the location of his father. Neither Draco nor his demon lover ever know he's there.

* * *

_What is this place?_

Riddle stands at the front gate of a large estate on an island in the Mediterranean, looking up at the massive house adorning the grounds. He waves his hand and the gates swing open soundlessly. Gravel crunches underfoot as he walks up the driveway towards the house.

"I thought you might like an outlet for all that anger you have."

_What are you talking about?_

"You always complain about the people I kill, the violence I inflict on people. But I haven't forgotten what you did, Harry. You killed and tortured people."

_Because you made me. Because you threatened my godfather if I didn't._

"I never threatened Sirius to make you kill your uncle or to kill the people you did in Azkaban."

_What's this got to do with anything?_

"You're angry and I'm violent. Let's work together and release that anger on the person who really deserves it, then you can stop complaining about my violence."

_Are you talking about...?_

Riddle reaches the house and pauses, using Harry's magical eye to look through the walls, scanning the excessive number of rooms searching for occupants; he finds two—a house elf sleeping in a nest behind the wall of the kitchen, and Lucius, in the master bedroom, asleep. Smiling, Riddle flicks his wrist and the door crashes open, swinging around to hit the wall with a bang loud enough to wake the dead. Riddle stalks forwards, crossing the threshold and heading to the staircase directly opposite—only to jerk to a halt in the middle of the entrance hall.

"What the—?"

_Look up._

Riddle does so. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling and peering at it he realises the framework is elaborately designed into the form of a devil's trap, a pentagram with binding symbols etched within, leaving any demon who walks into the area of the circle completely unable to leave.

"Son of a bitch."

He tries to break it. His demonic powers are rendered inert, but Harry's mortal magic isn't—or shouldn't be, he thinks, only to discover it will no longer obey him.

"You mutilated yourself for nothing, Harry," he growls.

He looks towards the master bedroom again to watch Lucius climbing out of bed, pulling on a night robe and snatching his wand from under his pillow, holding it in front of him as he makes his way out the room and through the house. It takes him twenty seconds to reach the top of the stairs and although he can clearly see there's someone in the entrance, it's too dark for him to see who, at least until he flicks his wand, murmurs a spell, and the chandelier lights up, making Riddle perfectly visible and throwing a shadow of the devil's trap on the floor.

Lucius' face turns bone white.

"No."

Riddle smiles unpleasantly. "Hello, Lucius. Remember me?"

Lucius can only stare at him. The hand holding his wand shakes.

"Are you going to come down and say hello, Lucius? It's been... let's see... six years. Six years that you left me buried underground. Why is that?"

Lucius swallows thickly. His eyes flick down, notice the shadow of the devil's trap, then flick up to the chandelier before returning to Riddle, gaze narrowing slightly and his hand steadying on his wand. He ventures down the stairs, slowly, and doesn't speak until he reaches the bottom.

"You're not him," he says, staring at Riddle and staying several feet from the shadow of the devil's trap. "You're a demon."

"Right and wrong, Lucius," Riddle says. "I'm a demon, inside of Harry. He's not happy with you, you know. He's furious that you left him. And you didn't just leave him, either, did you, Lucius?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, demon."

"Of course you do. Harry doesn't," he adds with a condescending smile. "He's confused right now. Do you want to explain it or shall I?"

Lucius says nothing, fingers tightening on his wand but casting no spells.

"I'll do it then." He tucks his hands in his pockets, feigning at nonchalance despite his anger at being trapped. "When I possessed Harry, he was in the ground. Not in a coffin—in the ground. Now either Harry's daddy has previously unsuspected hippy ideals about giving back to the earth, which seems unlikely, or he just didn't love Harry enough to give him a proper burial, which is possible of course given his history, but what I think happened is that you, Lucius, took Harry from his coffin and put him in the ground so that if his dear daddy ever did figure out what you did, he wouldn't find anybody to wake up. Is that right, Lucius? Is that what happened?"

"I don't have to talk to you, demon. _Accio Rituale Romanum_. I'm sending you back to hell. I've still got four years before my debt is due; I intend to survive them."

"Good idea," Riddle says as a door beyond the stairs flies open and a book comes soaring through for Lucius to snatch out of the air. "I spent a long time in hell; it's not a nice place to be. But are you sure you want to exorcise me, Lucius?"

Lucius merely gives him a dirty look and flicks through the book, clearly searching for a certain page.

"I only ask because when you exorcise me, you'll be left with Harry. Harry who is very, very angry at you and won't be contained by the chandelier over my head."

Lucius pauses, glancing up from the book.

"Maybe you'd like to speak to him before you make your decision," Riddle suggests and closes his eyes.

* * *

Harry gasps as he's given control of his body, staggering slightly but still held back by the devil's trap; he may be in control but he's still possessed. He straightens up, lifting his gaze to fix on Lucius, anger burning through him.

"He's right," he says, and his voice must be enough for Lucius to realise it's him because he stiffens and backs up, climbing several steps on the staircase to put space between them. "I'm so angry at you, Lucius. Everything I did for you and you left me in the ground."

"Everything you did for me?" Lucius repeats, anger in his own voice. "All you did for me, Evans, was get my son killed, lock me in Azkaban, and ruin my life."

"I got you out!" Harry yells. " _I_ told you about demon deals, _I_ got you what we needed to do it, _I_ was the one that made it all possible! Without me you'd still be rotting in Azkaban, Lucius. _I trusted you!_ "

"That was your mistake," Lucius sneers. "If you were too stupid to realise I hated you—"

"I knew you hated me," Harry interrupts. "I always knew, I just never realised how much. I underestimated you, but you underestimate me, too."

Lucius looks at him, confused, and Harry drops the glamour Riddle holds constantly in place over his rune scars, making Riddle realise what Harry figured out when Riddle first tried to break the trap—that it doesn't restrict Harry's magic, it merely restricts Riddle's ability to wield it.

"I may be possessed and that trap might hold demonic powers at bay, but it doesn't restrict mortal magic wielded by a mortal soul, Lucius."

He points at the chandelier, which cracks and snaps in half straight down the middle, the candles on it blowing out, and Lucius's eyes go wide as Harry steps forward. He drops his book, points his wand, then apparently decides otherwise and Disapparates with a crack. Harry makes a Wish and Lucius reappears. The wand jumps from his fingers and flies across the hall, clattering to the floor near the door, and Harry thrusts out a hand. Lucius falls, hits the stairs, and stays there as though pinned down, struggling vainly as Harry walks up the steps towards him. He stops level with Lucius' knees and crouches, looking into the man's terrified face.

"Evans—"

"Shut up," Harry interrupts, and Lucius does. "I've been possessed for about six weeks now, Lucius. I've seen the demon kill people in more disturbing ways than you, Bellatrix Lestrange, or Voldemort ever did. That's just one demon—can you imagine what it must be like in hell, where there are hundreds, thousands maybe?"

"Evans, please."

"I can," Harry continues in a quiet voice. "I imagine it's something like what I went through in your cellar, only ten times worse. In four years, you're going to start suffering that. I want you to think about that, Lucius. Remember what I was like when you finally entered that cellar and freed me, remember what I looked like, the injuries I had, the humiliations you know I suffered. And know that in four short years, you'll endure far, far worse."

He puts a hand on the step by Lucius' head, bracing himself as he leans closer. "When those four years are up, remember that I'm only granting you mercy now because I know there's nothing I can do that won't seem like a pin prick compared to what's coming for you."

He stands then, looking down at Lucius. "I assume there's still a warrant out for your arrest and if the English Aurors found you, you'd be thrown back in Azkaban? That's why you're hiding out in the Mediterranean?"

Lucius nods jerkily.

"Good. I'm not torturing or killing you for what you did to me," Harry elaborates at Lucius' confused look, "but that doesn't mean you should spend the next four years living in luxury."

He casts a Body Bind Hex on the man then Wishes him to the English Ministry of Magic. Now alone, he just barely has enough time to think about trying to exorcise himself, be it with Lucius' dropped book or with a Wish, but as soon as the thought is even half realised, Riddle snatches back control of his body and takes the possibility away from him.

* * *

Lily discovers Harry's possession entirely by accident. She goes to a home in Aberdeen to reap a family of three and arrives to find Riddle tearing the heart out of a ten month old baby. The head and torso of the child's father lies in the middle of the floor while his arms and legs are tossed carelessly about the room. The mother is still alive and screaming hysterically, stomach ripped open and guts torn out and draped grotesquely around the potted plant in the corner of the room.

Riddle is smiling when Lily arrives, holding the small heart in his blood soaked hands, but he looks up at her and the smile broadens into a foul grin that would tell her this person isn't really her son even if her reaper powers didn't identify him as a demon automatically.

"Well, well, well," Riddle drawls, rising to his feet and letting the heart roll out of his hands and hit the floor with an unpleasant squelch. "Isn't this a surprise. Hello mummy dearest."

"You're this monster's mother?"

Lily's gaze flicks to the spirit of the dead father, floating over his dismembered body, and then back to Riddle. "No. I'm the mother of the man this demon is possessing."

"Aww, come on, Mummy, you're going to hurt my feelings."

"I am not your mother."

Riddle shrugs. "Perhaps not, but I wouldn't want a Mudblood for a mother anyway. Keep your hands to yourself!" he adds harshly, jerking back when Lily approaches him. "I am not dying today, reaper."

"I will get you out of my son," Lily promises.

"Even if you have to kill him? Do you hear that, Harry? First your father tries to kill you and now your mother. Your parents must really hate you. No wonder this bitch was so willing to die when you were a baby."

His words are punctuated by a moan from the mother, who's finally died, her spirit drifting forwards from her body to the baby's.

"My boy... my baby boy..."

"Beautiful," Riddle says with a laugh, then looks back to Lily. "I'll leave you to your work. I'm sure we'll see each other again, _mother_."

* * *

 

**Elsewhere**

Sirius and Lupin are in Egypt when Lily arrives, lounging at the base of the pyramids in bright morning sunshine. Just as most of England is caught in a perpetual raining morning, the rest of the world is trapped in the time and weather of when Harry left.

The men lie on towels, with a radio playing nearby, both completely naked save for the large pair of sunglasses on Sirius' face. She rolls her eyes; it's not the first time she's come to Elsewhere and found them de-clothed. At least this time they're not in the middle of having sex. She thanks the heavens for a reaper's powers and creates a couple of towels to cover the men's privates. It makes Sirius jerk, lifting his head and looking at himself then noticing her and looking up. Beside him, Lupin snores, asleep on his front. Despite the fact that they've clearly been sunning themselves for some time, neither man has so much as a hint of sunburn. Being dead comes with some advantages, but it does mean they don't tan either. She spares a moment to lament her own pale skin. Not that she ever got much of a tan in life; like many redheads, her skin burned long before it tanned.

"Alright, Lils?" Sirius greets, propping himself on his elbows.

"I found Harry."

Sirius sits up. His towel falls away and Lily tsks, waving her hand to make it shift back in place as Sirius reaches over and jabs a finger into Lupin's side. He grunts. Sirius pokes him again.

"Wake up, Moony."

"Bugger off, Padfoot."

"Lily's here."

Lupin doesn't open his eyes. "Hello, Lily."

"She found Harry."

That gets Lupin up and he at least has the forethought to grab the towel covering him and hold it in place as he shifts to sit facing her.

"Where?"

"Aberdeen, a week ago. He's possessed. By a demon," she clarifies at their confused looks.

"A demon? Like that Crowley he sold his soul to?" Sirius asks.

"Only in so much as they're both demons. Crowley is a higher tier demon; he rules hell now. The one in Harry is a run of the mill lower tier piece of shit."

Sirius and Lupin exchange looks. It's not often Lily swears.

"I found him murdering a ten month old baby. He ripped the poor boy's heart out."

"Harry would never—"

"I know," she cuts Sirius off, waving her hand dismissively. "The demon was doing it, but he's in Harry's body and Harry's in there too. For all I know, he's been possessed for years, forced to watch everything the demon does, and I can't help him."

"Because of the rules?" Sirius asks, anger in his voice. "Lils, this is—"

"No," she interrupts. "You don't think I would break the rules to save Harry from this? I _can't,_ Sirius. It's not even within my power to do an exorcism. The only thing I can do is break the natural order and kill him, but with Harry having a Horcrux I can't be sure that will even work to expel the demon and I don't know that I could make myself do it anyway."

"Why not? Ow!" Sirius glowers at Lupin, rubbing his arm.

"He's her son, Sirius. Why do you think she doesn't want to kill him before his time?"

"It's got to be better than demon possession and killing babies."

"Except I have to take him to hell when he does die," Lily points out.

"Why not bring him here?" Sirius suggests. Lily frowns.

"It's against the rules. Leaving you two here is one thing, but to actually bring someone when they die..."

"Rules are overrated."

"I have to agree with Sirius on that for once," Lupin remarks. "I've never been to hell, but I've been to purgatory and one assumes that hell is worse. It's no place anyone should have to go."

"I'd get fired."

"What happens to reapers who get fired?"

Lily's frown deepens. "I don't know. I know some go rogue by escorting souls, living and dead, between realms, and they stop receiving names. That might be what happens."

"You stop receiving names?" Sirius repeats. "So basically you could retire. Settle down here with us and Harry. With him here we would get filler people as well. Wouldn't be quite so barren."

"The weather would change," Lupin says a little wistfully.

"Right, and the seasons and time of day."

"Do you _want_ Harry to die?" Lily asks with raised eyebrows, and both men are quick to assure her they don't.

"Just saying, it'd be nice for things to change around here a bit. I never thought being dead would be so boring."

Lupin grins. "That's because you always said you'd become a ghost and spend your afterlife haunting Snape."

Sirius sniggers. "Oh yeah. I did think about sticking around to haunt old Moldywart, but I figured he'd die eventually and didn't want to get stuck haunting Malfoy Manor. Speaking of, how's Draco and Prongs and Cissy and the kids?" he asks Lily.

"Doing well, last I saw. The twins are growing up fast."

"How old are they now?" Remus asks. "Five?"

"Yeah."

Sirius leans forward, pushing his sunglasses up to the top of his head and looking at Lily questioningly. "Doesn't it ever bother you? James being married and having kids?"

She shoots him an amused glance. "No. I'm glad he's happy. He always wanted kids; it's part of why I waited so long to tell him about Harry. Besides, do you really think I haven't seen other people in the last thirty years?"

Sirius expression says the idea clearly hasn't even occurred to him and Lily rolls her eyes.

"You were dead!" he cries defensively.

"So are you and I've still caught you with your pants down more times than I've cared to."

Lupin flushes, looking away. Sirius doesn't so much as blink. "My lover's dead too," he points out.

"So what, I was supposed to remain single and pining for however long it took James to die? I don't think so, Sirius. Maybe if I'd died of old age and he might have been with me in a few years, but not when I died at twenty-one and hoped he'd live a long life. I've dated other reapers."

"You've never mentioned any," Lupin remarks. "None of them anyone special?"

She shrugs. "Not really. It doesn't help that I'm the youngest earthly reaper. A lot of them look down on me as a baby, which is irritating, and some of them get incredibly snotty about my being ignorant of lifestyles from centuries ago. It's a bit pathetic really."

"Hang on a sec," Sirius says, frowning. "What do you mean earthly reaper?"

"Well species from other planets reap their own."

Sirius glances at Lupin then back to Lily. "You mean... aliens?"

She nods.

"Aliens are real?"

"Of course they're real. Our universe is huge; you didn't honestly think earth was the only planet out there that managed to produced life forms?"

"...yes?"

"You are painfully small minded, Sirius," she tells him, eliciting a pout and indignant huff that just makes her and Lupin laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Torture. Violence.

**18th December 2011**

_We're about to get stabbed._

A knife blade buries in Riddle's back, grazing his heart and puncturing a lung. He staggers from the impact, catches himself and straightens up, then turns and flicks his hand, sending the woman who stabbed him flying across the extravagant living room to crash against the door frame so hard her spine snaps and she flops to the floor.

"Humans," Riddle snarls, reaching around and yanking the knife out of his back. "A little more warning next time, Harry."

_Why? It doesn't affect you._

"Then don't bother warning me at all," he says, waving his hand over the knife and turning the steel to silver.

_I wasn't. I was stating a fact. I don't have much else to do in here._

He flips the knife in his hand, throws it out the door, watches it spin through the air, turn the corner, and a moment later there's a pain filled scream and the thud of someone falling to the floor.

 _Crowley won't be happy if that's another dead one_ , Harry remarks as Riddle straightens his rumpled robes, brushes his hair out of his face and stalks out the room, stepping over the dead woman and turning into the lavish kitchen. A man is on the floor, bleeding heavily from the leg as he tries to crawl away, the knife discarded.

"Still alive," Riddle retorts. "Unfortunately."

"Please," the man says, rolling onto his back with a grimace and looking up at Riddle. "Just leave me alone, I don't know nothing. I can't help your boss."

"Apparently that's not for me to decide," Riddle replies, bending to scoop up the knife. "I killed the last guy who said that and Crowley kicked up a fuss, so you're coming with me, skinwalker."

The skinwalker's pleading expression turns determined. "You'll have to kill me first," he says, then his body morphs into that of a German shepherd so large his shoulders reach Riddle's waist, and he leaps at Riddle, who buries the knife into the dog's belly even as he knocks him to the floor, jerking it up with a grunt and feeling blood and guts spill out over him.

_That's disgusting._

Riddle merely grunts again, shoving the dead animal off him as it morphs back into a human. Skinwalkers are a bastardised mix of Animagus and werewolf, humans who can turn into canines at will, passing the condition along through biting but with a weakness to silver. It's just one of several creatures that Harry has learnt about over the past months of being possessed, though Riddle is more familiar with a number of the things they've met.

_Crowley's going to be angry._

"Fuck Crowley," Riddle snaps, getting to his feet and vanishing the gore covering him. "I'm sick of bowing to his whims. I don't care if he calls himself king and I don't care what he's doing with the half-breeds I bring him. They all deserve to die. They're filth," he concludes, punctuating the statement with a kick to the dead skinwalker.

"A man after my own heart," an American voice says from behind him. He whirls, narrowing his gaze at the woman standing in the door leading out into the well tended garden. She has wavy brown hair, wears a leather jacket and a pair of heeled shoes that still don't make her quite as tall as Riddle, and has completely black eyes.

"Who are you?"

"Name's Meg," she introduces, shoes clicking as she steps into the house, barely sparing a glance for the body on the floor. "You might have heard of me."

"No."

"Really? I've heard all about you, Riddle."

Riddle scowls, but doesn't correct her on his name. No demon ever listens to him when he does.

"Fitting name, huh?" Meg continues, mouth curled into a slight smile. "It's yours, I heard, not your meat suit's, not even one you picked like Crowley or Azazel. It's your actual human name, which is the real riddle—why would you cling to your humanity like that?"

She asks it with genuine confusion, like a five year old asking how a baby gets inside their mother's tummy.

"I chose a name for myself; everyone refuses to use it."

"Yeah? What name is that?"

"Voldemort. A name wizards everywhere used to fear when I was human."

Meg nods, clearly humouring him. "So you're still clinging to your humanity even then. Unbelievable."

Riddle narrows his gaze at her. "What do you want?"

"I'm putting together a crew, looking to take down the new boss. You fancy joining?"

"You're going to take out Crowley? Then what, take over yourself?"

Meg laughs. "Me, the queen? I don't think so. I'm not built for management, I'm more of the soldier type."

"Then who?"

Meg shrugs. "I don't know. I don't _care_."

"Then why kill Crowley at all?"

"Survival. I need to kill him before he kills me."

"Why does he want to kill you?"

Meg considers him for a moment before she answers, apparently deciding whether the information is worth divulging and perhaps realising that Riddle's hoping to find out whether killing Meg would give him enough credit in Crowley's eyes to be worth the effort.

"Do you know the deal with the apocalypse?"

"I've heard about it," Riddle answers. "Big angel fight between Lucifer and Michael that would have destroyed half the earth, only Sam Winchester interfered and now Lucifer and Michael are trapped in a hell cage. It doesn't tell me why Crowley wants you dead... and why I shouldn't kill you and take you to him."

"He wants me dead because I'm a Lucifer-loyalist. Crowley stood against him and now he's hunting down everyone that worked close to Lucifer. But you have nothing to gain from killing me. You're a baby, Riddle; this is your first trip topside so even taking out one of Lucifer's most loyal won't get you a promotion up Crowley's ranks."

"Killing him won't do me any favours, either," Riddle points out. "I can't take over myself and I don't want to bow to any successor of his either."

"It'll give the rest of the demons less of a reason to laugh at you behind your back," Meg suggests. "Because they do that. Riddle, the demon who clings to his humanity and thinks that just because he possesses Harry Evans it makes him _scary_ ," she says, drawing the word out mockingly.

"I'll show you scary, bitch," Riddle growls, flicking his hand and tearing flesh from Meg's face. Her head jerks aside with the assault, but she laughs and looks back at him, reaching up to tenderly touch the bared muscles along her cheekbone.

"That the best you got?"

Riddle lunges at her, knocking her to the floor with the intention of tearing her skin off with his very hands, only to land on top of her and feel a sharp, hot pain along his side that seems to burn through his very being. He throws himself off her and looks down to find a deep gash in his skin, the flesh glowing fiery orange.

"What the—?"

He breaks off with a grunt as Meg lands on top of him, straddling his hips and pinning him to the floor, a wooden-handled knife in her hand, it's rune-covered jagged-edged blade pressed against his throat.

"You see this here, baby Riddle? This is a demon killing knife. It's one of few things that can actually kill us, not just send us back to hell. I stick you with this, you cease to exist. So here's the deal: help me kill Crowley, or I gut you like a fish."

"When you put it like that, I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Meg smiles. "So glad you understand."

* * *

"Well you're not half as useful as you think you are," Meg says. Riddle scowls, crumpling the paper arrow with Crowley's name on it and tossing it to the floor. They and three other demons are holed up in an abandoned loft in America, trying to figure out where Crowley is. Riddle hasn't seen him face to face since he left hell, always delivering the monsters he collects to a pair of demons who Apparate them away elsewhere, but his attempt to make one of Harry's tracking arrows results in the arrow spinning wildly in his hand and his attempts to Wish Crowley to them are equally useless.

"He's the King of Hell; are you really surprised he's protected from mortal magic? Besides, I think Harry's stopping me doing it properly. He manages that sometimes."

"We're just going to have to outsource then," Meg says with an irritable sigh, stalking towards the door leading into the adjoining room where the other three demons are. "Buck up, boys. We're going after the Winchesters."

The other three demons glance at one another and don't move.

"The Winchesters?" Riddle repeats from behind Meg. "As in related to the Sam Winchester who defeated Lucifer?"

"No," Meg replies, half turning to look at him. "As in Sam Winchester himself, and his brother Dean. Why? Not scared of them, are you?"

"A pair of humans?" Riddle scoffs. "I don't think so."

"You should be," one of the other demons says, currently in the body of a man with a beard, moustache, and dark hair hanging to his shoulders. "The Winchesters have killed more demons than anyone. They defeated the angels and stopped the apocalypse and they've both come back from hell after dying; I mean, Sam Winchester made it out of Lucifer's cage. That's good reason to be scared of them. Why are we going to them?"

"To kill them, wimp," says a bald man. "Why else?"

"Not to kill them," Meg counters. "The Winchesters are working for Crowley; they can tell us where he is. And you can all stop being such a bunch of babies," she adds with a sneer at the bearded demon and the third one who has heavy set eyes and a floppy hair cut. "The Winchesters can't kill demons when I have their demon killing knife. There are two of them and five of us, and I can guarantee you Sam only got out of the cage because of the angels, which is how Dean got out of hell too, so grow a pair of balls. They're not killing anyone."

*SotD*

Sam Winchester is a giant. Not literally, but compared to Harry's short figure he might as well be. He stands well over six feet and is built well enough he could probably knock Riddle flat on his back with one punch, but that doesn't stop Riddle from easily knocking him out with a Wish and tying him to a chair, then doing the same to his brother, who's only an inch or so shorter than Sam and therefore still substantially bigger than Riddle.

 _Are you really getting jealous about their height?_ Harry asks him.

"You're short," Riddle mutters.

"Who d'you think you're calling short?" the bearded demon asks him angrily. Riddle hasn't bothered to learn their names; Balded, Beardy, and Floppy work just as well as identifiers.

"Harry. The person this body belongs to."

The other demons all stare at him. Sam and Dean are still unconscious, facing one another across the small room of the abandoned house where they found the pair.

"You do know you can shut him up, right?" Meg says. "He's going to go insane from the possession anyway."

"Why would I shut him up when making him watch everything is so torturous for him?"

"You're weird," the bald demon says. Riddle scowls and flicks a hand at Sam and Dean, who jerk awake, look around at their captors, and settle for glowering at Meg.

"Meg," Dean drawls. "I've been dying to see you again."

Meg smiles. "Well here I am, big boy. So what shall we do now?"

Dean glances past her to his brother then looks back. "How about I rip you to shreds?"

_That might be more convincing if he wasn't tied to a chair. How are demons scared of these two? They're not even wizards._

"My thoughts exactly," Riddle mutters, drawing odd looks from Sam and Dean.

"Ignore him," Meg tells them. "He's the new kid on the block and he's a bit strange."

"Yeah, I can see that," Dean says, eying Riddle's robe. He's the only one there not in Muggle clothing.

"Back to business," Meg says. "Where's your boss?"

Sam scoffs. "You think we're working for someone?"

Meg looks around at him. "I happen to know for a fact you've been juggling Crowley's orphans. Now where is he?"

"Don't know," Sam answers. "Don't care."

 _There's something weird about him,_ Harry remarks. _Feel him_.

"Excuse me?" Riddle says incredulously.

Meg rolls her eyes and turns on Riddle. "Can you keep it to yourself? I'm trying to work here."

"You call this working?" Riddle responds. "Harry here did a better job of getting information out of people when he was sixteen and as about happy about it as a mermaid getting beached. But by all means, carry on 'working'."

He leans against the wall, folding his arms over his chest and crossing one ankle over the other. Meg keeps an angry stare on him for a moment before turning her attention back to the brothers.

 _I meant with my magic_ , Harry says, amusement evident in his tone, much to Riddle's irritation. Riddle does so, eyelids dropping as he does, and focuses all his awareness on the magic in the air around them. It's agitated, slick and oily from the presence of five demons, but around Sam it's oddly still.

_That's weird. That normally only happens around dead things. He's not dead, is he?_

'Don't be stupid, of course he's not,' Riddle thinks, opening his eyes to look Sam over.

_There's something weird about him though. I wonder what._

Not really caring, Riddle pulls his attention from the magic and returns it to Meg just in time to see her slide onto Dean's lap and put her knife to his throat. "Okay, officially over the foreplay. Satisfy me or I please myself."

 _You could make them talk,_ Harry points out to Riddle as Sam laughs. _All it would take is a Wish._

'Where's the fun in that?'

"Something funny, Sam?" Dean asks his brother, tense under Meg.

"Yeah. Meg."

"Really? Because where I'm sitting—"

"Don't worry," Sam interrupts. "She can't do jack squat. She's totally screwed."

"Sam, not helping!"

"Look at her, Dean. She's furious. If she could kill you, she'd have done it by now. She's running."

The other three demons exchange glances. Meg lowers her knife and turns her head to look at Sam. "Am I?"

"Judging by the flop sweat on all of you, yeah," Sam says as Meg gets to her feet. "Which means you're running from Crowley. Which makes sense. Crowley would want to hunt down all the Lucifer-loyalists now that he's big man on campus."

_He's smart._

"How would you know?" Meg sneers.

Sam shrugs. "It's what I'd do." He shifts his gaze to Dean, shooting his brother a confident smirk. "She can't kill us. She needs us to lead her to Crowley so she can stick that knife in his neck. It's him or her."

Dean looks up at Meg, all the worry gone from his face now. "Well, I hope you both lose, but good luck."

Anger flits across Meg's face, but Sam speaks again before she can do anything.

"So you know what you have to do now, right?"

"Let me guess: you're going to tell me?"

"Work with us."

That gets everyone's attention. Riddle straightens up from the wall, looking between Sam and Meg.

_That was unexpected. Maybe he's not quite as smart as I thought. Who works with demons?_

"We'll hand you Crowley in a bow, on the condition we go with you and you help us wring something out of him before you hack him to bits."

"What?"

"Doesn't matter. Question is, can you get us what we need?"

A superior expression comes over Meg's face. "I apprenticed under Alistair in hell, just like you brother. So, Dean, can I make Crowley do whatever I want?"

Riddle looks between Meg and Dean, confused and faintly curious as Dean's expression darkens and he says reluctantly, "Yeah, she can."

"It's a deal then," Meg says with smile. "Hugs and puppies all around."

"So you going to untie us?" Dean asks.

"Please. Don't pretend you don't enjoy it," Meg says and heads for the door. "Call me when you've got a location on Crowley."

 _Is that it? No torture, no advanced interrogation?_ Harry says incredulously. _What kind of demons are these?_

"Thought you didn't like blood and torture, Harry?" Riddle remarks with smirk as he moves to follow Meg and the other demons out.

 _I don't,_ Harry says firmly. _Just pointing out. Seems weird for demons. How can she be sure they don't know where Crowley is?_

"Who's Harry?" Dean asks when none of the other demons respond to Riddle's question.

"My host. Where's Crowley?" he asks, demanding truthfulness with Harry's Wish magic.

"I don't know," Dean answers, then looks surprised at himself for doing so, but asks, "You always talk to your host?"

"Like I said," Meg speaks up before Riddle can answers, "he's strange. We're going, Riddle."

* * *

_They don't like you very much, do they?_

They're back in the abandoned loft and the three male demons sit together playing cards. They haven't invited Riddle. 'We're demons. We don't like anyone very much.'

 _They seem to like each other well enough. Did they hurt your feelings?_ Harry mocks.

'I don't _have_ feelings.'

_Yeah? So why aren't you speaking aloud to me anymore? Ashamed? Because that's a feeling._

Riddle scowls, getting up from his spot on the floor and moving through to the adjoining room where Meg is lying on the floor playing with her knife. "How long are we supposed to wait for the Winchesters to find Crowley?"

"No more than a day. Why? You bored?"

"Yes."

Meg slips the knife into a holster on her hip and pushes herself up on her elbows. She flicks her hand at the door and it slides shut, cutting them off from the others and prompting Riddle to glance around then look down at her questioningly, then yelp in surprise when she flicks her hand again and makes him trip forwards and land on top of her. He pushes himself up on his hands and knees and looks down at her as she start to undo his robe.

"Me too," she says. "So lets do something fun together."

_She wants to have sex with you._

"Thanks for stating the obvious."

Meg stops, cocks her head, then pushes Riddle away and sits up. "Okay, we're not going to do this if you keep talking to your meat suit. I may be a demon, but a girl has standards."

_You don't want to have sex with her anyway. You made it perfectly clear what you thought of sex when you were human, so—_

"I won't say a word to him," Riddle promises.

_Wait, what?_

"Good," Meg smiles. "Now take that stupid robe off and fuck me."

_Nonono, what are you doing? You don't like sex!_

'You made me sit through you having sex with Draco; this is payback,' Riddle thinks back, Wishing off his robe and leaving him only in his boxers. Meg looks him over, clearly unimpressed by his skinny figure, but she says nothing and reaches up to curl a hand around the back of his head, tugging him down to make their lips meet.

* * *

_I hate you._

'All the things I've done and you're making all this fuss about a bit of sex?' Riddle thinks, watching Meg pull her clothes back on. 'Is it because she's female? Would you have preferred I fucked one of those fellas in the other room? The one with floppy hair looks like Frederick Nott. I could have fucked him.'

 _Fuck you!_ Harry screams. _I hate it because she's a demon! I don't ever want to have sex with a demon again! I don't want a demon in me! Get out of my body! Leave me alone and get out of my fucking body!_

Riddle smiles, getting to his feet and dressing himself.

* * *

It's little after midnight when the five of them meet with the Winchesters again outside of their abandoned house, but there's a third person with them now, a man in a beige trenchcoat who stares at Riddle as the three approach the demons. Riddle stares back. The man, whatever he is, isn't human; Riddle's demonic senses tell him that much, though he doesn't know what the man is. Whatever he is, just standing near him makes Riddle feel uncomfortable, like he's dousing himself in bleach. When he feels out with Harry's magic, he feels his eyes widen. The man has _wings_. Invisible to human and demon eye, but they're definitely there, huge feathered wings sprouting out of the man's back. On top of that, there's no magic flowing into the man; if anything, he seems to be giving it off, little waves of power streaming out of him, and Riddle has the feeling that the man is suppressing this ability and Riddle's only feeling a smidgen of what he could be putting out.

"Remember me?" Meg greets the stranger. "I sure remember you, Clarence."

'Clarence', for it's clearly a nickname, doesn't look impressed. "Why are we working with these... abominations?"

"Keep talking dirty; it makes my meat suit all dewy."

"Alright, simmer down," Dean says, lifting a calming hand. "We know where Crowley is."

"Great," Meg says. "Do tell."

Sam scoffs, taking his wary gaze from Baldy, who's staring at the Winchesters with obvious dislike and twitching his fingers like he wants to wrap them around the humans' necks. "Yeah, so you can go there and leave us for dead."

"You boys have serious abandonment issues, you know that?"

"We'll show you," Sam tells her. "But we all go there together."

"What, I'm supposed to just trust you?"

"No, you're not that stupid."

Meg nods her agreement. Sam steps forward, holding out a hand. "Give me the knife."

Meg looks at him incredulously. "No, I'm not that stupid."

"You want us to take you to Crowley or not?"

Meg sighs and unhappily hands it over. Sam looks at the blade, turning it in his hands, then stabs it into the gut of Baldy. Riddle leaps back as orange light flickers beneath the demon's skin before eventually fading as he drops to the floor, dead. Meg and the other two demons make towards Sam, but instinct has Riddle summoning the knife from Sam's hand, flicking his wrist to send the man to the ground, and lifting the knife with every intention of driving it into Sam's back—only for Clarence to grab his wrist and twist, making the knife slip from his fingers, and then shove him away as Sam snatches the knife up again and scrambles to his feet, holding it out defensively against Meg and the other two. A long silvery blade drops from Clarence's sleeve and into his hand and he lifts it to point at Riddle.

"You saw him!" Sam says loudly. "He was more interested in killing us than getting the job done! I just did all of us a favour."

Riddle and the other two demons look to Meg, who nods, gesturing for them to back off, and Riddle reluctantly backs down. Clarence sheathes his own blade and Sam steps back, lowering the knife then turning and walking away.

"Hey!" Meg calls. "You just going to keep that?"

Sam turns back. "You took this from us. I'm taking it back. We leave in one hour."

Meg looks Clarence over, spares a glance for Dean, then walks away. Riddle follows her, hearing the other two come after them. They don't bother to do anything with the dead man.

"What is he?" Riddle asks Meg of the man she calls Clarence.

"Castiel? He's an angel. And yes, that blade of his will kill you." She leans against the wall of an outhouse, folding her arms over her chest and watching Dean and Castiel head inside the main house. "It's Sam you want to watch out for though. I've tangled with these boys before; he has never been this ruthless and calculating. Something's off about him."

* * *

Crowley's hideout is an abandoned prison with not a single guard in sight and no warding on it all. They all agree it's far too easy for them to gain access, but with no other choice they head inside anyway. They discover the cells inside the prison occupied, holding chained and bloodied creatures.

 _I guess we found out what Crowley was doing with all the people you captured,_ Harry comments shakily. He isn't happy about being inside a prison nor about going after Crowley. He isn't confident they'll defeat him.

"What's he doing with them?" Riddle asks, peering into a cell holding what appears to be a dead rugaru, a creature who seems human for most of their life until they're overcome by an irresistible craving for human flesh, the first mouthful of which will steal their humanity from them and turn them into monstrous looking creatures whose only interest is eating people. "Does he just get his kicks from torturing them? You wouldn't think the King of Hell would have so much free time."

"Doesn't matter," Sam replies, tugging his brother away from the door of a cell where a djinn begs them to let her out. "Let's move."

They head through until they turn into a corridor, only for Castiel to stop them all halfway down, frowning and half turning to look back.

"What is it?" Dean asks him, but the answer comes in a rattling of doors and the growl of dogs.

"Damnit," Meg curses. "Here come the guards."

"Hellhounds," Dean breathes with the terror of someone who's been up close and personal with them. Riddle's not pleased to find himself feeling the same rush of terror from Harry. "Go!"

They run, but the hounds are fast and already rounding into their corridor, great big monster dogs that only the demons and Castiel can actually see. Bearded and Floppy shove Riddle to the rear of the group in their desperation to get away, so he magically trips them up, sending them to the floor to get grabbed by the brutally sharp teeth of the demonic pitbull while Riddle jumps over them and rushes through the doors leading to a second corridor. Sam and Dean slam them shut behind him and Sam pulls a foot-long wooden stake from the duffel bag hanging from his shoulder, passing it to Dean who slides it through the door handles as a makeshift lock. Sam then takes a carton of salt from his bag and hurriedly pours it in a line along the bottom of the door. Just as he finishes, blood spurts up to splash across the panes of the windows set into the doors, and Sam jerks back as the hounds start throwing themselves at the doors instead.

 _They're monstrous,_ Harry says in a panicked voice. _I'm glad I couldn't see them when I killed you. I'd have lost my nerve._

"Pathetic," Riddle mutters at him.

"That should keep them out," Sam says, moving away from the door.

"Not for long," Dean counters, turning to Meg and Riddle. "How many are there?"

"Lots," Meg replies and looks at Riddle. "Kill them all."

"How is he supposed to kill them?" Dean demands. Meg just smiles.

Riddle doesn't bother with extravagant killing as he normally does, infected by Harry's fear of the hounds and aware that they need to work quickly, and just explodes the heads of the eight dogs in the hall beyond them. Silence falls and Sam and Dean glance at each other then at Riddle.

"How'd you do that?" Dean asks.

"The person he's possessing is an incredibly powerful wizard," Castiel answers when Riddle says nothing.

"Sorry, did you just say wizard?"

"Yes."

"Wizard," Dean repeats. "Not witch like we've come across before, but wizard? Like Gandalf?"

"I don't know who that is."

"Yes," Meg confirms. "Wizard like Gandalf, only without the staff and long beard."

"Really, Cas?" Dean says incredulously to the angel. "You've never seen Lord of the Rings? Come on, that's just..." He trails off, noticing the expression on Sam's face that clearly says now is not the time for lecturing Castiel on pop-culture, and clears his throat. "Okay, fine. Wizards are real. We should keep moving."

They turn their attention down the hall and start off. Riddle walks behind the brothers and Castiel, frowning at their backs.

 _Do you think angels are exempt from the International Statute of Secrecy?_ Harry wonders. _Are they allowed to tell Muggles because they're angels so they're not bound by man's law? For that matter, I don't remember ever reading anything about angels at Hogwarts._

"Nevermind that," Riddle murmurs, voice quiet so the others can't hear him. "They're not scared."

_Why would they be scared?_

"I'm a wizard. They—"

 _I'm a wizard,_ Harry interrupts. _You're a demon._

"They should be scared."

_They spend their lives hunting demons for a living and have an angel for a friend. We heard Sam fought Lucifer and won, and apparently they both went to hell and came back—as humans. They make me look unremarkable, so why would they be scared of a wizard?_

"They're Muggles."

_Muggles aren't half as pathetic as you think they are._

"Tell that to the ones who begged for mercy when I killed them."

_Lots of people beg for mercy when you kill them. It's a human thing, not a Muggle thing._

"Who the hell are you talking to?"

Riddle looks up at Dean, who's stopped walking at the top of a dark staircase to turn and shine his torch in Riddle's face.

"Not Crowley, so I don't see how it's of interest to you, seeing as that's who we're here for."

"It's creepy, and I don't trust people who talk to people I can't see."

"It's just his meat suit," Meg says.

"You talk to your meat suit?" Dean asks Riddle sceptically.

"Harry and I are old acquaintances. We have a love-hate relationship."

_There is no love in our relationship._

"Leave it, Dean," Sam says. "It doesn't matter."

"Whatever. Just keep your mouth shut before you bring Crowley's demons down on us."

"Don't tell me what to do, Muggle."

"Muggle? What the hell is a Muggle?"

"Dean, leave it," Sam demands. "We need to keep moving, we don't have time for an argument."

"He's the one calling me weird English names," Dean grumbles, but turns away and continues down the stairs. "I mean, seriously, what does Muggle even mean?"

"It means you're a usel- what the—?"

Sam, Dean, and Cas spin, the two humans raising guns to point in preparation of a threat as Riddle stops suddenly on the landing where the stairs change direction, but Riddle merely looks up. Dean points his torch up, showing the elaborate devil's trap painted on the ceiling above them, different than the one that caught him in Lucius' home. Meg backs up a step to avoid getting trapped as well, but before any of them can do more than that, there's a burst of blinding white light and Castiel disappears.

"Cas?!" Dean yells, looking around for him.

Sam's the first to notice the man stood by a wall on the ground floor, drawing his brother's attention to it with a quietly furious, "Dean."

Dean turns, shining torchlight to reveal a bald man of about forty with his hand pressed to a sigil painted on the wall in blood, clearly familiar to the two brothers

"You sold us out," Dean says angrily, and his words are punctuated by the sudden appearance of three demons, each of whom grab Sam, Dean, and Meg, while Crowley steps out from around a corner. "Damn you, Samuel!"

 _We're so dead,_ Harry says.

'No, we're not,' Riddle thinks back desperately. 'I'll give you control. Break the devil's trap, kill Crowley.'

 _I can't_.

'Why not?' he demands. 'You did it before!'

_Can't you feel it? There's a magic barrier around us, presumably the result of that circle of runes and sigils inside the devil's trap. I can't do magic._

'Then what's the point of the runes you carved into yourself?' Riddle thinks angrily.

_That stops people trapping my magic in me; it doesn't let me push magic past a restriction barrier. I can do magic within the circle, but not beyond it, and the trap is beyond the circle. I can't break it._

Riddle looks back down to Crowley, seething, and gets a smug look in return. "Clever, isn't it?" Crowley remarks. "Keeps you trapped and your meat suit from being able to help you out."

"Going to keep me here forever, Crowley? You can't exorcise me; you're a demon too."

"That's very true. Samuel here isn't though. I'd say it's a pity to lose you, but it's more of a pity to lose Harry; you're far more disappointing as a demon than I expected, Riddle. Shame I have to do away with you two though," he adds to Dean and Sam. "I rather enjoyed your indentured servitude. Christian, you know what to do with the whore."

Crowley turns and walks away, leaving Riddle to do nothing but watch as Dean and Sam are dragged down the stairs and away in one direction, while Meg is disarmed of her knife and taken back up the stairs and away. When they've gone, Riddle focuses his attention on Samuel.

'There has to be something we can do.'

_I'm thinking on it. Unless you can get him inside the circle._

Riddle considers that, then, 'He's probably not attracted to scrawny English boys, is he? So seduction's out of the question.'

"Do you always pull weird faces when you're about to get exorcised?" Samuel asks him, climbing the stairs to stand on the landing just beyond the devil's trap.

"You don't want to exorcise me," Riddle replies.

"Sure I do."

"No, you don't, because when you do, my host won't be restrained by the devil's trap."

Samuel shrugs. "And?"

"Clearly Crowley didn't tell you anything about my meat suit."

"I don't give a damn about your meat suit. If he's still alive when I'm done, I'll get him out and never see him again."

Riddle smiles. "Don't be so sure about that. Harry here is a violent murderer. He'll kill you when he's got his body back and you won't be able to stop him."

_No, I won't._

'He doesn't know that.'

"Is that right?" Samuel says.

"He broke out of England's highest security prison," Riddle tells him. "He was sentenced to life for killing... how many people, Harry? Fifteen, or thereabouts? Not to mention the people he tortured but didn't kill. Then there were about ten more deaths while he was imprisoned."

_I mean it, Riddle. I won't kill him or anyone when you've been exorcised. You haven't healed the damage from that stabbing yesterday, or the damage in my liver from that guy who shot you a few weeks back, or the stab wound in the leg from the teenager in Berlin two months ago. The only reason I'm still walking is because you're possessing me; when you're out, I'll die._

"He sounds like a terrible person," Samuel notes without much care, then draws a gun from his waistband and shoots Riddle through the chest. "But now he won't do anything to me when you're exorcised and I have the peace of mind knowing I took a murderer and escaped convict off the streets." He holsters the gun again. "Now be quiet while I exorcise you. _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus..._ "

_Riddle, give me control! I've had an idea, I can stop him now, give me control!_

Riddle doesn't even ask how, just relents control of Harry's body. Harry grunts and drops to his knees, closing his eyes and giving all his attention to the bullet lodged in his heart. It hurts like hell, but he's able to draw it out. Samuel falters in his exorcism when he sees it, but sets his face and carries on. Harry opens his eyes, looks up, and tosses the bullet towards the ceiling at an angle, giving it a burst of magic to push it up to speed, and the metal lodges into the concrete, cracking it. He drives more magic into the crack, lengthening it until it splits through the circle of runes, rendering it useless though the devil's trap remains unbroken.

"How are you doing that?" Samuel says shakily. "You shouldn't be able to, demon."

Harry doesn't reply, just makes a Wish that has Samuel dropping to the floor, unconscious, and then looks up at the devil's trap still holding him, but doesn't break it.

_You going to stay here forever, Harry?_

"If I break it, you leave this man alive."

 _He shot you_. _He sold us all out to Crowley according to the Muggle._

"He shot me because of what you told him and selling us out doesn't earn him a death sentence. Promise me, Riddle. If I break the trap, you leave him alive."

_Fine. I'm letting you keep control for the moment anyway. You only ever distract me._

Harry frowns. "You're letting me keep control?"

_Temporarily. You do want Crowley dead as well, after all. But rest assured, I'll take back your body the moment I think you're trying to turn on me, Harry, or as soon as you're finished. Just don't forget—I'm still the one keeping your body walking and talking. And don't try healing yourself; I'll take control again if you do._

Harry hesitates a moment longer, then drives magic into the concrete ceiling to widen the crack and break the devil's trap, allowing him to walk out of it.

* * *

He finds Dean in what appears to be the prison bathroom, fighting off two things that appear to be human but which don't respond to Harry's attempts to Wish them asleep. He conjures chains instead, loops them around the two beings, and haul them into the air, hanging them on conjured hooks. Dean scrambles to his feet and backs away, looking around the bathroom.

"We need something to decapitate them with, or destroy their heads completely."

"Why? They're fine there. We don't need to kill them."

Dean stares at him. "What kind of a demon are you?"

"He's not in control at the minute; my name's Harry and I don't like killing people."

"They're not people, they're monsters and they were trying to eat me."

Before Harry can reply, there's a shout from outside the room. "Dean!"

"In here, Sam!"

Heavy footsteps, then the door bursts open and Sam rushes inside, taking in the situation and looking oddly at the two suspended people.

"Ghouls?" he asks Dean, who nods.

"Ghouls?" Harry repeats. "They're not ghouls. Are they? I've never actually seen one, but I thought they were uglier than that. And lived in attics and things and were mostly harmless."

"Trust a demon to say someone who eats humans is 'mostly harmless'," Sam remarks.

"I'm not the demon. I'm Harry, and I don't remember reading anything in school about ghouls eating people. Maybe it's a regional thing," he muses. "What you call ghouls in America, we call something else in England."

"Samuel exorcised the demon from you?" Dean asks him, clearly not interested in debating their language differences.

"No. The demon just gave me control for a while. He'll take over again when he decides I've run my use. Are we still going after Crowley or are we running away now?"

"If the demon's still in you then how did you escape the devil's trap?"

"I'm a wizard; I used magic."

"Demons can't use magic when they're trapped."

"They can't use their demon magic. Mine is mortal magic; it takes different runes to stop it and I took precautions against it years ago. Are we going after Crowley or do you want to keep suspecting me of things?"

"What happened to Samuel?" Sam asks instead of answering him.

"I knocked him out, which is less than what the demon would have done to him."

"Should have killed him," Dean says. "I'm going to the next time I see him. I can't believe that bastard sold us out!"

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"He's our grandfather."

"Oh," Harry says, surprised. "He's... young to be a grandfather."

"He died before we were born. Crowley resurrected him to use him to catch monsters."

"Do you know why he's catching monsters?" Harry asks them. "He's had the demon doing it too for the last few months, all over Europe. What does he want them for?"

"We don't know," Dean answers him. "And now's not the time to discuss it. We need to find Meg, then Crowley."

"Why Meg? She's a demon and I don't think the person she's possessing is in any state to be saved."

"Meg has the demon killing knife; we need it to go up against Crowley."

Harry debates saying that he can kill Crowley without a special knife, but he's not entirely sure he can so he keeps quiet as he follows them out and they search for Meg. He's almost certain he can exorcise a demon with his Wish magic, but he's not sure killing them is within his power, especially not the King of Hell who has far more power than most demons.

* * *

They find Meg being tortured in what seems to be an entrance room. She's naked and stuck to a metal table with additions to outstretch her arms, leather straps etched with devil's traps holding her down at the wrists, ankles, chest, and hips, and the demon called Christian is crouched by her and carving into her thigh with the demon killing knife. There's a tray of other tools used for torture sat nearby. The sight of her like that is enough to bring memories of Harry's own torture slamming to the forefront of his mind and Riddle rears up, snatching back control of his body. Harry doesn't even fight him, too busy trying not to look at what's in front of him nor think about knives digging into his own skin.

Meg's screaming when they enter, but she notices them creeping silently into the room before Christian does and starts laughing, prompting him to stand up and frown down at her.

"What are you laughing at?" Christian asks Meg, then Dean snatches the knife from his hand and sticks it through the demon's back.

"Dean Winchester's behind you, meatsack," Meg answers, and Dean draws out the knife, letting Christian crumple to the ground.

"We should go," Sam says. Dean looks around at him then back to Meg. For a moment, Riddle thinks they're going to leave her there or possibly even kill her, but then Dean starts undoing the straps.

"Find her clothes," he says to Sam.

"Leave her naked," Riddle suggests. "She's a whore anyway."

"Bite me, Riddle," Meg replies. "You weren't even a good fuck."

"Blame Harry. Most of his experience with sex involved getting buggered by men who hated him."

 _Fuck you_ , Harry thinks, but there's no anger in his voice, just fear and hatred.

"I guess the demon's back in control," Sam says to Riddle, finding Meg's clothes discarded in a corner and taking them over as Dean finishes unstrapping her.

Riddle sneers. "He gets tortured for four months fourteen years ago and now the sight of one demon bitch getting sliced up a bit makes him a mewling coward. You should hear him begging me to stop whenever I kill someone, it's pathetic."

Dean looks at him with disgust, hand clenching on the knife like he's thinking of using it, but Sam steps in before Dean can do anything. "We need to figure out what to do about Crowley."

"Keep things simple," Dean replies, pointing to the wall behind Riddle. "Fire alarm. We paint a devil's trap on the ceiling, pull the alarm, wait for Crowley to come to us."

"I lost my duffel bag when they caught us," Sam counters. "I've got no paint. And even I'm not that tall, Dean. Whoa!" he cries as he suddenly lifts off the floor and floats towards the ceiling. A can of spray paint appears in front of him.

"Get painting," Riddle says.

* * *

The plan works, mostly. Riddle keeps them all invisible as they wait for Crowley, who stops short of the devil's trap when he enters the room, but Sam smacks him around the head with a pipe he pulls off the wall and knocks Crowley to the floor inside the trap.

"Was that necessary?" he says as he gets to his feet, brushing off his knees while Riddle makes them all visible. "I just had this suit dry cleaned."

He looks up then, seeing the devil's trap, and looks back to the four of them with annoyance. "So, to what do I owe the reach around?"

Meg lifts a hand and curls her fingers in. Crowley doubles over, coughing up blood.

"The best torturers never get their hands dirty," she remarks when Dean glances at her, then adds to Crowley, "Sam wants a word with you."

She lowers her hand and Crowley straightens up. "What can I do for you, Sam?"

"You know damn well. I want my soul back."

 _His soul?_ Harry repeats as Riddle looks at Sam. _But... I thought people who lost their souls were pretty much useless. Barely able to feed themselves let alone carry on like he is. He can't have lost it._

"And here I thought you just grew some balls, Sam," Meg mocks him.

"It's a Muggle thing," Crowley says, earning a confused look from Sam, Dean, and Meg until they realise he's talking to Riddle.

"Okay, will someone tell me what Muggle means?" Dean demands. "Seriously, is it an English thing?"

"It's a wizard thing. Their word for non-magical schmucks like you," Crowley tells him, then says to Riddle, "They can manage without their souls a lot better than wizards."

"What happens to wizards who lose their souls?" Dean asks curiously.

"Pretty much the same thing that'll happen to your brother if he gets his soul back."

"Can you get it back or not?" Sam demands.

"No."

"Meg," Dean prompts, and she lifts her hand again, this time driving Crowley to his knees, drawing a pained groan from him and coughing up more blood.

"I can't!"

"Can't or won't?" Sam asks.

"I said can't and I meant can't, you mop headed lumberjack," Crowley snaps. "I'm good, but those two in there? No way. I was lucky to get this much out of there. Besides, didn't you hear what I just said? Why do you even want it back? Satan's got one juicy source of entertainment in there. I'd swallow a rag off a bathhouse floor before I took that soul... unless you want to be a drooling mess."

"Sam, I hate to say it, but he's right," Meg comments.

"Yeah, right, I get it. Thanks. He's all yours."

"Whoa, what are you, crazy?" Dean counters. "He's our only hope."

"You heard him, Dean, he can't get it. He's useless."

Dean glances at Crowley, clearly not happy, and reluctantly hands the demon killing knife to Meg. She takes it with a smile, stepping up to the devil's trap but pausing before crossing it to look back at Dean.

"You'll let me back out, right?"

Sam and Dean nod. Riddle doesn't express his scepticism, but he does speak up. "We not going to torture him first?"

Everyone looks at him and he shrugs.

"That bastard's the reason I went to hell in the first place; I'd still be human and ruling England if it weren't for him. I want revenge."

"Oh please," Crowley sneers. "You went to hell because of Harry, not me."

"Harry made his deal with you. He should have been the one to pay for it, not me."

"I quite agree, but the past's the past, Riddle. So are you children going to kill me or not?"

Meg steps forward, crossing into the devil's trap, and raises the knife over her head. "This is for Lucifer, you pompous little—"

Crowley kicks her feet out from under her, snatches the knife from her hand as she falls, and gets to his feet. He throws the knife up and it breaks through the concrete, cracking it and splitting the devil's trap, allowing him to step out.

"That's better," he says, and flicks his hands. Sam and Dean are lifted off their feet to get tossed against opposite walls and pinned there. Riddle crumples to the ground with a scream as pain wracks through not just Harry's body but his very being. The knife falls from the ceiling and Crowley catches it, pointing it at Meg's throat as she stands, and says loudly over Riddle's screams, "You don't know torture, you little insect."

There's a flutter of wings then and Castiel appears, standing between Crowley and Riddle.

"Leave them alone."

"Castiel," Crowley greets, clicking the fingers of his hand not holding the knife. Riddle's screams go silent, but he continues to writhe on the floor, mouth still open in silent agony. "Haven't seen you all season. You the cavalry now?"

"Put the knife down."

"You that bossy in heaven? Hear you're losing out to Raphael. The whole affair makes Vietnam look like a roller derby." He glances down at the large cloth bag in Castiel's hands as the angel pulls something from it. "What's in the gift bag?"

Castiel holds up a dirty human skull. "You."

Crowley's smile fades. "Not possible."

"You didn't hide your bones as well as you should have."

Crowley lowers the knife, turning fully to face Castiel and tucking it under his armpit so he can clap his hands slowly. "Cookie for you."

Castiel returns the skull to the bag and drops it at his side. "Can you restore Sam's soul or not?"

Crowley clicks his fingers and Sam and Dean drop from the walls. The pain leaves Riddle and he gets his voice back, groaning as the aftershock of the pain lingers in him. It triggers a generalised seizure in Harry and Riddle stays on the floor, struggling to keep the body from spasming out of his control.

"If I can help out in any other—"

"Answer him," Dean interrupts Crowley.

Crowley glances between the three men and sighs. "No."

Castiel sets the bag on fire. Crowley screams, bursting into flames, and Riddle pushes himself up on trembling arms to watch with wide eyes. He had no idea that the bones of his human body, of Voldemort's body, would be a weakness to him now. It's both informative and terrifying, as he realises he has no idea where his bones are.

It takes less than a minute for Crowley to become nothing more than a pile of ash. When he is, Sam and Dean move forwards, Sam going instantly for the knife and Dean fixing his gaze on Meg, while Castiel turns to Riddle. Riddle looks past him to catch Meg's eye just before she disappears.

 _We probably shouldn't go up against an angel,_ Harry suggests as Sam and Dean turn on Riddle instead. _Crowley hit you hard and it feels to me like we just had a seizure. We should leave. Now._

Riddle hesitates, sees Sam start towards him with the knife, and Disapparates. He reappears in the abandoned loft where Meg and the other demons were before, but she's not there.

_I guess you're on your own again._

Riddle gets to his feet, brushing himself off and scowling at the hole in his robes from where Samuel shot him. "I've still got you, Harry."

_Unfortunately for me. Are you going to heal the damage in my body?_

Riddle thinks about it and does fix the damaged cloth, but decides not to. "Consider it incentive not to get rid of me. You do, you die."

_I can't die. I still have my Horcrux._

"Exactly. So if I leave you, you're left as the parasitic spirit that I became after I first tried to kill you. Trust me when I say it's no way to live, and there's no more Philosopher's Stone to resurrect you, nor do you have any followers to help you with the resurrection potion I used. So you're stuck with me, Harry. For good."


	3. Chapter 3

**3rd June 2012**

"You're very quiet, Harry," Riddle remarks. He sits on a bench in the courtyard of a convent in Portugal, surrounded by the bodies of the nuns who reside there and covered in blood, bits of organs, and brain matter. It's six months since Crowley died and Riddle has spent the time alternating between gruesome murders—entertainment, he calls them—and research on demons, be it through books or finding others and talking with them. The revelation that his human body is a weakness inspires him to find out what other weaknesses his has, and makes him go looking for his body. He Wishes for it and gets a pile of bones, which is no surprise; he moves it to the ground underneath Harry's coffin, where Harry was buried before his possession. He doubts anyone will look for him there should they decide to try and kill him by burning his bones.

He doesn't learn much else. Aside from burning their bones, he knows their other weaknesses such as salt, holy water, and iron, all of which cause extreme pain. He does memorise the devil's trap and he learns about demon repelling runes and sigils which can keep a demon from entering a building. There's also a simple mark, a circle with a line intersecting halfway through it, that when branded into a host body makes it impossible for him to leave, even with an exorcism. He heals the scars on the back of Harry's left hand and burns it there.

"Nothing to say? I just killed more nuns than I can count and you didn't speak so much as a single please."

There's still silence. Riddle sighs, resting his arms along the back of the bench and tilting his head up to look at the starry sky above.

"I know you're still sane in there, Harry. I can feel your disgust and hatred and complete despair. It's delicious, it really is, but this silence is pointless. I want to hear you scream, Harry."

Still nothing.

"Well then. If you're going to be like that, I guess it's time for me to take drastic measures."

* * *

Riddle gets as far as Draco's bedroom before Harry finally cracks.

_Don't. Riddle, don't, please. Leave him alone. Don't touch him._

"Why would I do that?" he whispers, approaching the huge bed where Draco sleeps alone. "I've been waiting to do this for ages. It's time."

_Riddle, don't, I'm begging you. Don't touch him, don't hurt him, just leave him alone!_

Riddle rouses Draco by pressing his hand over his mouth, making him jerk awake but silencing any noise he might make, and Draco stares at him like he can't believe what he's seeing. Riddle Apparates them both downstairs to the drawing room, only then taking his hand from Draco's mouth and watching with a slight smile as Draco sits up and backs away, still staring at Riddle. He's wearing only a pair of boxers.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Draco."

He shakes his head. "I'm dreaming. This is a dream."

Riddle reaches over and pinches him.

"Ow!"

"Not dreaming," Riddle states.

Draco stares at him a moment then scrambles to his feet. Riddle rises slowly, never taking his eyes off the other man.

"You're not Harry. You can't be, he's dead."

"I faked it. It's me, Draco. I'm alive."

 _You're not!_ Harry screams. _You're not me! Stay away! Get away from him!_

"Prove it," Draco demands. "Prove you're Harry."

"The first time you told me you loved me, we were in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, sixth year, after Slughorn's Christmas party."

Draco's breath hitches. "Oh Merlin..."

Riddle approaches him, Harry screaming in his head, and lifts his hands to cup Draco's face. Draco whimpers at his touch, grabbing Riddle by the front of his robes and jerking him forwards, slamming their lips together hard enough to bruise, and Harry blows out the windows and blasts the doors off their hinges.

Draco jerks away, looking around at the destruction, then lets out a huff of laughter and looks back at Riddle. "You haven't changed, have you?"

"I wouldn't say that. It's been a long time, Draco."

"Where have you been? You say you faked your death, but then what have you been doing all this time?" There's a world of emotion in his voice when he asks the question and he folds his arms over his bare chest. "My father told me you killed yourself because of Severus, but if you didn't... you knew, didn't you? That my father was going to make a demon deal to bring me back?"

Riddle smiles sadly. "You think I abandoned you."

"I don't know what to think, Harry. I thought you were dead for years and now you turn up in the middle of the night and tell me you've been alive this whole time? What am I supposed to think?"

Riddle shrugs. "I suppose I wouldn't be surprised if you thought I hated you."

"I don't think—"

"It's true, after all."

"What?"

 _Riddle, stop, leave him alone!_ Harry yells as Riddle thrusts out a hand and knocks Draco onto his back, then plants his feet on either side of Draco's hips and crouches down, grabbing his chin in one hand and jerking him up to put them almost nose to nose. _Leave him the fuck alone! Get off him, get off him, get off him!_

"You died, Draco. I moved on. I spent eight years in prison; did you really think I was going to just keep mooning over you after all that time?" Riddle sneers. "Get over yourself."

"What? Harry, I don't—" he breaks off with a scream that Harry echoes. Riddle lets go of his face, grinning as Draco falls back against the floor, writhing in pain as the flesh on his chest boils, the skin bubbling and burning bright red—

Harry throws his body off Draco with such force he hurtles up to hit the wall above the door to the room, bones cracking and breaking enough that without the demon he would definitely be dead, and the shock of the impact is enough to make him lose the momentary control of his body and magic. Riddle crumples to the ground, groaning, but gets unsteadily to his feet, driving magic into his leg bones to heal them enough that he can actually stand up. Across the room Draco whimpers, but lifts his head enough to see Riddle and struggles to push himself up and move away as Riddle approaches him.

"You're not him," Draco says shakily as Riddle crouches by him, grabbing him by the chin and stroking his hair with the other hand.

_Yes! Yes, Draco, I would never hurt you._

"That's a mean thing to say, Draco."

"I don't know how you know about the first time I told Harry I loved him, but you're not him."

"Do you need more proof?" Riddle asks. "How about this?"

He waves his hand and an ornate blue glass butterfly appears in the air, fluttering wings that are as delicate as the real thing.

"I made you one of these the day I got expelled in my fourth year. The first time we had sex I almost couldn't do it and you told me to imagine what I imagined when I masturbated." He shifts the hand on Draco's chin to cup his cheek instead, bending closer. "It's me, Draco. I'm just not the me you used to know."

"Why are you doing this?"

Riddle adopts a falsely thoughtful expression. "Prison, I guess. Eight years in Azkaban does strange things to you, Draco. Or we can blame my daddy not loving me enough. Does it really matter?"

He slides the hand down Draco's face, ripping the skin off as he goes. Draco screams and Harry jerks his hand away. He gasps, scrambling way from him.

"I'm sorry. Draco, I'm sorry, I don't—Merlin's balls, you're irritating," Riddle interrupts. He notices Draco staring and smiles unpleasantly. "I suppose the gig's up. You're right, I'm not Harry. Not in essence, at least. This is definitely his body and he is in here."

"Who are you?" Draco asks, blood spilling all down his face.

"Not who," says a voice from the doorway and Riddle looks up to see Draco's demon lover from a year earlier, a jug of salt in hand. "What. He's a demon, Draco."

Riddle surges to his feet and attempts to Wish away the jug of salt, but a furious burst of protectiveness from Harry keeps him from doing more than making the jug wiggle in the other demon's hands. The demon tosses some of the salt on him, avoiding getting any on himself, and when Riddle staggers, crying out in pain, the other demon shoves him down and pours more salt into his mouth. Riddle screams and gags as it burns down his throat and Harry fights not to let his magic lash out at the other demon, wanting Riddle to pay for what he's done.

Then they disappear from the drawing room and reappear in a dank stone corridor. The other demon grabs Riddle by the collar and shoves him through a door into an equally dank and small stone room with chains hanging from the ceiling. He hears the other demon speak a spell and the chains whip down, lash around Riddle's wrists, and haul him up until his feet leave the floor. By the time he finishes hacking up the salt from his gullet and looks up, the door's slammed shut and he's stuck within the devil's trap painted on the floor, barely visible by the moonlight shining through the small window set high in the wall behind him.

"Break us out," he demands of Harry before relenting control of his body.

"No."

_What do you mean no? Do you think that whatever reason that demon has for bringing us here is good? This is a prepared trap, Harry. He expected us to turn up at Draco's, it's probably the whole reason he was dating him. Get us out before he and whoever else he might be working with does Merlin knows what to us._

"There's no us, Riddle. I'm not breaking you out. I don't care what he does to me if it means you don't get to hurt anyone anymore. This is it. It's over for you. I hope he kills you."

Furious, Riddle wrenches back control, but it does him little good. He's still stuck.

* * *

Lucius' cell in Azkaban, the third from the end, is decorated with devil's traps and demon warding sigils, painted in his own blood on the floor, walls, and ceiling, and a line of salt crosses the floor just in front of the bars. The guards stopped cleaning it all away when he just kept redoing them, tearing his own wrists open with his teeth. They think he's mad, but Lucius doesn't care. He lost his reputation twenty years ago when James Potter was found in his cellar; he isn't bothered by what a bunch of criminals and prison guards think of him.

He's still eating the slop that passes for prison breakfast when the door to Dead Block opens and the sound of two sets of footsteps approach. He looks up when they stop outside his cell then gets to his feet when he sees Draco stood outside with head guard Dayton Nix. He's paler than usual and there's a jagged scar on his right cheek that wasn't there when Draco visited him two months ago.

"Draco, what's—"

"What happened the day you and Harry broke out of here all those years ago?"

Lucius stares at him. "Why are you asking me that?"

"Answer me, Father!"

"You know what happened, Draco. I've told you before."

"No, you've told me lies. Tell me the truth."

"I have told you the truth, Draco. What is this about? Has Severus been filling your head with lies? Trying to turn you against me again?"

"No, I'm starting to think Severus may have been telling the truth back then actually. Do you want to know why, Father? Because Harry Evans turned up at my house last night!"

The rest of the block falls silent, everyone listening to the Malfoys' conversation. Draco ignores them, staring at his father.

"What happened, Father?"

"Harry is dead, Draco," Lucius says quietly. "Whoever turned up at your house last night was a fake, someone pre-"

"Shut up!" Draco yells. "Stop lying to me! He knew things only Harry could know, details of intimate moments I had with him and never shared with anyone. He was possessed by a demon and tried to kill me, but it was definitely him, Father. So tell me what happened seven years ago."

Lucius doesn't hesitate. "I have. Harry killed himself. He died. The demon, or whatever came to you last night, was not Harry no matter what it said. Harry is dead."

Draco shakes his head, turning and walking away without another word.

* * *

James is waiting in the front hall of Malfoy Manor when Draco returns home. Draco greets him curtly and stalks past, heading for the drawing room, and James follows him. He's got a few grey hairs in his brown mess now and lines on his face betraying his age, but otherwise looks fit and healthy still.

"Shouldn't you be teaching?"

"I called in sick. Cissy told me what happened last night. Draco, don't tell Severus."

Draco stops, turning to face him. "James, I've told you before—you may be my step-father, but you do not get to tell me what to do."

"I'm not telling you what to do as your step-father, I'm telling you as Severus' Slave."

"He should know that his son is walking around possessed by a demon."

"We don't know that's what happened. Even if it is," he adds, cutting off Draco when he starts to speak, "Severus doesn't need to know."

"He's his father, James," Draco says, turning towards the fireplace only for James to grab his arm.

"Draco, Harry's death nearly destroyed Severus, you know that. Even if Harry is alive, possessed or not, he faked his death for a reason. He wanted Severus—wanted all of us—to believe he was dead. It took Severus far too long to deal with losing Harry, but for the first time in his life he is actually happy; do not ruin it by giving him the vaguest hope that Harry might be alive."

"How is knowing his son is alive going to ruin him?"

"You know how," James snaps. "He won't believe it until he sees Harry for himself and he'll spend the time in between doubting it, lingering on the reasons Harry faked his death, obsessing how to find him... and to know that Harry's possessed? It will destroy everything he has. Severus is better without Harry."

Draco jerks his arm out of James' grip, but he turns away from the fireplace, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm going to find Harry. I won't tell Severus, but when I find Harry—because I will—and when I get the demon out of him, it's up to him then if he wants Severus to know."

James hesitates, reluctant about the idea.

"Harry might have spent the past six and a half years possessed for all we know, James. He might not have faked his death, the demon might have. He has a right to see his father again if he wants, James. That's not yours to decide."

James sighs. "Fine. But until you find him, until you know what's really happened, you don't mention a word of this to Severus or Hermione."

"I won't."

* * *

Judging by the light from the window, and Riddle has to because he doesn't have a watch even if he could look at his wrist, it's midday when the door to the dank room opens and a familiar figure looks in. Riddle's eyes widen in shock.

"You're dead."

"Surprise," Crowley says.

"So that thing with the bones really is just a rumour," Riddle says. "That's what some demons told me."

"It's not, but it does help if you have the right bones."

"Is this where you kill me?"

Crowley chuckles. "No. Well. Not Harry. You, Riddle, I'm going to kill, but Harry I intend to let live so someone else can possess him. I've already got another demon standing by. I think you used to know each other in fact. She is—or was—Bellatrix Lestrange."

"How are you going to kill me without killing Harry? I'm in him."

Crowley rolls his eyes. "I'll take you out first."

Riddle smirks. "Good luck with that. I'm not leaving this body."

Crowley laughs. "You think that brand on the back of your hand will keep you safe, Riddle? That's a mark on Harry's body and easily destroyed. Just sit tight. I'm busy at the moment and I don't have time to deal with you, but when I'm done with purgatory and Castiel, then I'll get back to you."

The door slams shut and Riddle frowns at it. "Purgatory?" he mutters to himself. "What's Crowley's interest in purgatory?"

There's no response from Harry; he hasn't said a word since refusing to break the devil's trap.

* * *

"Draco, babe, what are you doing? It's two in the morning, come to bed."

"Soon," Draco mutters without looking up from his book, sat at a table in the library of Malfoy Manor and reading by candlelight.

"You have class in the morning, Draco."

Draco sighs, looking up at his lover irritably. "Sebastian, a demon broke into our home just last night and Harry Evans may very well be alive. Do you think I give a damn about class right now?"

Sebastian plants a hand on the open book in front of Draco. "You've got the most important exams of your life coming up in less than a month, you're set to become one of the best healers Saint Mungo's has ever seen, and you're going to throw it all away because a demon made you think your dead ex-boyfriend is alive? Draco, it's madness. I told you the demon smoked out when it took me from here and left a Metamorphmage's body behind. Harry's dead."

"I don't know that. That demon knew too much. Even if it wasn't possessing Harry, he might have had him trapped away somewhere."

Sebastian growls angrily, grabs the table edge and tosses it sideways, sending the book, candle, and Draco's wand clattering to the floor. Draco jumps up from his seat, backing away from Sebastian, who sighs and holds up his hands submissively.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, Draco, I'm not going to hurt you."

Draco eyes him warily and tenses but doesn't move when Sebastian steps up to him.

"Come to bed, Draco," Sebastian pleads, taking Draco's hands in his. "You're tired because you got so little sleep last night, understandably, so you can't absorb anything you read right now anyway. Come to bed. You can read this tomorrow."

Draco glances at the book on the floor and Sebastian's hands tighten around his, gripping hard enough to make him wince, and he looks back, nodding. "Fine. You're right, I am tired."

Sebastian smiles. He leans in to kiss Draco chastely then draws back. "Go up. I'll clean this up and join you in a minute."

Draco nods, scooping up his wand as he leaves. Sebastian watches him go then waves his hand and the table rights itself, the candle returning to its spot, and the book flies into his hand. He flicks through it, scowling when he sees extensive information on demon summonings, devil's traps, and dealing with demon possession. He closes it, thinks for a minute, then sets it on the table and walks to the library door, but pauses there and glances back. The candle flares and topples over and Sebastian walks out as the flame flickers against the book.

* * *

The angel Balthazar appears on a park bench in Italy, his denim clad legs splayed wide—good, strong legs, without being large and bulky; he picked his human vessel well, being perfectly suited to him with its ruggedly handsome good looks, short blond hair, and an excellent torso for wearing low cut v-neck shirts. He slings one arm along the back of the bench and isn't looked at by the shorter and, in Balthazar's egotistical opinion, less attractive angel sat next to him, whose name is Gabriel. But in Balthazar's opinion, there are very few people more attractive than him, angel or otherwise. From a less narcissistic viewpoint, Gabriel isn't unattractive. He does have a rather large forehead, but is neither fat nor thin, stands at about average height, and has a face many would call cute.

"Hey, fatty! You're not fooling anyone being out here! Go home and stuff your face like you always do!"

The rude shout, aimed at one of several joggers in the park, comes from a man sat on a park bench a hundred feet away from Balthazar and Gabriel and is followed by raucous laughter from the man and his friend, both of whom are reasonably fit. At the comment, Gabriel makes a gesture with his hand, an almost careless twist, and the two rude men slowly stop laughing.

"Hey," says the one who made the comment. "You hungry?"

The other man nods. "Starving," he says, sounding slightly confused. "Really starving."

"Me too. Feel like I could eat a horse right now."

"We should get food."

The other man nods his agreement and both men get up and hurry away, frowning and rubbing at their stomachs. Later, they will die in a buffet restaurant after eating so much their mouths bleed and their stomachs explode.

When the two men have vanished from the park, Balthazar says in an English accent and without looking at Gabriel, "I need your help."

Gabriel speaks with an American accent and doesn't look at Balthazar as he answers. "I warned you not to get mixed up with the Winchesters."

"Actually it's Castiel that's causing me concern."

Gabriel does look at him then, mouth curling into a faint smirk. "Like I said, I warned you not to tangle with the Winchesters."

"He's been working with Crowley and is going to open the gates to purgatory, Gabe. You know the kind of things that are in there. Don't you think that maybe now would be a good time for you to come out of hiding? You could put an end to the war in heaven."

"Who says I want to?" Gabriel replies, his smirk falling away to a frown. "I stayed out of the apocalypse until those giants pulled me into it. I can stay out of this too."

"It's heaven, Gabe. It's our home and it's getting torn apart. Castiel can't stand against Raphael, but if you showed up—another archangel to stand against Raphael—Castiel would realise he doesn't need to open purgatory and steal the souls there for power. Have you considered that maybe that's the whole reason God brought you back to life after Lucifer killed you?"

"And now you want me to become the next Lucifer? Or Michael, maybe? You want me to stand against my brother and wage a war that will spill onto earth, so I can then get shoved into a cage by the Winchesters like Mike and Luci did?"

Balthazar scoffs. "They're not vessels for you or Raphael. They couldn't shove you in like they did Lucifer and Michael. I'm just saying you can take down Raphael. No one would see you coming, and once he's dead you can step back again and let Cas run things."

Gabriel stands up, looking down at Balthazar with dislike. "You know, I don't actually enjoy fighting with my brothers, Balthazar. Why do you think I stayed out of the apocalypse for so long? _I don't want this fighting_. I don't want to kill my big brother."

He turns to leave and Balthazar gets to his feet hurriedly. "Will you at least help your little brother?"

Gabriel sighs and turns back to him. "Help you with what?"

* * *

"You're late."

Draco sighs, stepping out of the fireplace and brushing soot off his robes, and drops into one of the drawing room chairs while Sebastian frowns at him from another.

"Class ran over."

"Really."

Draco looks at him incredulously. "Yes, really, and as I recall you were the one going on last night about how important class is for me at the minute. I've had a shit day, Seb, after having a shit day yesterday. A little sympathy and comfort would be nice."

"Certainly. When you clean up. You stink of sweat."

Draco scoffs, getting to his feet and stalking towards the door, but pauses halfway there to look back. "Did you get another book on demons?"

"I forgot."

"Great. Thanks. I ask you to do one bloody thing, Sebastian. Is that so hard?"

Sebastian gets to his feet, gaze narrowing as he approaches Draco. "Don't talk to me like that."

"A demon broke into my home, Seb! I need to know how to defend against them so it doesn't happen again. You get an entire hour for your lunch break at the pub; the least you could have done was spare ten minutes to walk down to Flourish and Blotts. You're the one that didn't put out the bloody candle you knocked over last night."

"My lunch break doesn't exist for you to send me on errands, Draco. I may not be learning how to save lives, but that doesn't mean I'm not busy at the pub and I like having time to myself for an hour during the day."

"Ten minutes, Sebastian. That's all I asked, but I guess you're just too bloody lazy."

_Smack!_

"Shit, Draco, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Get out."

"Draco, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Draco shoves him away, glaring, his cheek burning red. "I told you that if you ever laid a hand on me again, I would kick you out. I'm kicking you out."

"Draco, don't. I love you, okay? It was an accident, I just lost my temper for a second, it won't happen again, I swear to you."

"That's what you said last time."

"It was a year ago, Draco, you can't still hold that against me. You're blowing this out of proportion."

"You slapped me, Sebastian."

"Draco, please," he implores. "I love you, please don't leave me, I couldn't bear it."

"I'm going to shower," Draco replies coldly, turning away. "I expect you to be gone by the time I get out."

"Fine."

A hand grabs Draco's hair, he's shoved to his knees, and his head smacks into the wooden arm of one of the chairs.

"I never wanted this position anyway," he hears distantly before blackness swamps him.

* * *

Balthazar and Gabriel stand invisible at the top of a set of stairs leading down into a windowless white-tiled lab. A metal operating table sits in the centre of the lab, between two pillars, and around the edges are a couple of metal trolleys with tools, and jars of blood and viscera. Blood stains the floor, long dried and faded as though someone has attempted to clean it away but been unable to. One wall has a large dent, as though something has been thrown hard and fast against it.

Two figures stand in the lab. One is a perfect replica of Balthazar. The other is Castiel. He holds a closed jar of blood in both hands.

"Dean Winchester is on his way here," Castiel says in a rough voice to the Balthazar duplicate, who adopts an expression of concern. "He intends to stop me."

"Really? How did he even know where we were?"

"Apparently we have a Judas in our midst," Castiel says with a sigh, putting the jar of blood on a nearby trolley.

"Ahh," the duplicate replies with a faintly nervous chuckle. "Holy hell. Who is it? Bet it's that bloody little cherub. Isn't it?"

The real Balthazar frowns. "I'm a much better actor than that," he says in a low voice to Gabriel, who's watching the scene and eating a Hershey's bar.

"Then why'd you need me to do this at all?" he replies without looking at Balthazar, who has no response.

"I don't know," Castiel says. "But I need you to find out."

"Of course, right away," the duplicate agrees. "What do you want me to do about Dean?"

"Nothing," Castiel replies almost before the duplicate finishes talking. "I'll handle him myself."

The duplicate nods, watching Castiel turn and walk a few steps away, his expression one of mild concern. "Castiel? Are you alright?"

Castiel sighs. "First Sam and Dean, now this traitor. I am doing my best, in impossible circumstances. My friends they... abandon me. Plot against me. It's difficult to understand."

"Well," says the duplicate with a faint smile. "You've always got little old me."

"Way better actor than that," Balthazar mutters with a look at Gabriel, whose expression is perfectly innocent and utterly unconvincing.

There's a flutter of wings and Castiel moves from standing in front of the duplicate to behind it. "Yes," he says, and stabs an angel blade, a long silvery weapon, through the duplicate's back. "I'll always have you."

"Cas..." the duplicate gasps and then collapses to the floor and dies in a burst of celestial white light.

When the light has faded, Balthazar and Gabriel look down at the duplicate body and the charred wings scorching the floor on either side of it.

"You really must teach me how to make such convincing illusions," Balthazar says to Gabriel, who smirks and licks chocolate off his fingers as he turns away to leave.

"You owe me one, Balthy."

"Sure. The exit's this way, Gabe."

Gabriel turns in the opposite direction that Balthazar points. "I know. But the wizard is this way."

"Wizard?" Balthazar repeats, looking in the direction of the exit then going after Gabriel.

"Can't you feel him?"

"All I feel are angels. This place is full of them. And a demon."

Gabriel hums an agreement and comes to a stop in front of a door. He looks up and down the stone corridor they stand in then steps forward and opens the door, letting both angels look in at the man chained up inside.

"A demon inside of a wizard."

Riddle frowns at him. "I know you. Or at least, Harry does. You worked at Azkaban prison."

Balthazar looks at Gabriel. "Your vessel is a prison guard?"

Gabriel looks at him balefully. "I'm an archangel; you think a prison guard is fit to hold me?"

Balthazar shrugs. "Mine ran a brothel; you get all sorts fit for angels these days. Do you remember Adriel? I met her a few months ago; her vessel is a porn star. So what was yours?"

"Druid."

"A druid? Are you joking?"

Gabriel smirks and doesn't answer. Balthazar can't tell if that means he is or not. If there's anyone who would have the nerve to pick a Celtic druid as a vessel, it's Gabriel.

"This is fascinating conversation," Riddle says, "but can we move on. Have you come to kill me? Is Crowley working with angels now?"

"Yes, I'm going to kill you," Gabriel answers, "and yes, Crowley is working with angels, but not us. Or he was until Castiel double crossed him, but that's not important to you."

He enters the room, dodges a kick from Riddle, and reaches out to press his hand to Riddle's head. Riddle's body jerks and blinding white light bursts through his eyes and out his mouth when it opens in a silent scream.

* * *

Harry doesn't go anywhere when he dies, doesn't meet his mother or Death again. He merely finds himself floating, semi-transparent, in the room where his body is, a lingering pain in him, likely from the angel smiting. He looks at his body, hanging limply by the wrists, his glass eyes melted in their sockets, which are scorched and bloody.

"Don't go anywhere."

He looks over at the two angels, both of whom are looking at him. The American is who spoke.

"Why? Sorry, I don't remember your name," Harry tells him. "And thanks for killing the demon."

"You're welcome. My name's Gabriel and I'm going to repair your body and put you back in it, so don't go anywhere."

Gabriel turns to Harry's body while Harry watches, confused.

"I thought was something with a C, but guess not. What do you mean you're going to put me back in it? My body's dead, there's no point putting me back in it. Even if you hadn't just burnt it out, it's got loads of injuries from the demon."

"You're not too smart, are you?" the English angel remarks. "I'm Balthazar by the way, and in case you missed it, we're angels. We can heal any injuries and bring back the dead."

"Strictly speaking, I'm not exactly dead."

"A worse state of existence than death itself," Gabriel remarks, pressing two fingers to the forehead of Harry's body. "And I did use the name Cyrus while I was working in Azkaban. There. Good as new."

He steps back and Harry gapes at his body. Not only are his eye sockets repaired, but his eyes themselves are—two completely real green eyes stare dully at the space in front of him.

"You forgot the scars," Balthazar remarks, looking at the runes covering Harry's body.

"I assume you want to keep those," Gabriel comments to Harry, who nods.

"Thought so. I did get rid of every scar that isn't one of the runes, so you'll have a few patches of clear skin, except the lightning bolt of course. Mark of Death that; God himself couldn't touch it. All the damage on the inside is healed—optic nerves, tear ducts, brain damage, some truly impressive internal injuries to your organs—and I cured your epilepsy as well."

"Really?"

Gabriel looks over his shoulder at him. "Are you doubting an archangel?"

"No," Harry assures him hurriedly. "No, I'm not doubting. I just... why do this?"

Gabriel shrugs, lifts a hand and clicks his fingers. The chains around Harry's wrists unwind and his body flops to the floor. "I kind of like you, Harry. I don't like Crowley, so I don't want his demons using you for nefarious purposes."

Harry looks away. "Bit late for that. I've done so many horrible things over the past year."

"The demon did horrible things," Balthazar corrects.

"I was there. I couldn't stop him killing all those people."

"Exactly. You couldn't," Balthazar reiterates when Harry glances at him, his tone saying he shouldn't even need to point this out. "The demon killed them, so it's not your fault. Are you going to put him back in his body, Gabe?"

"Yes. This is going to hurt a bit," Gabriel warns Harry, and then sticks his hand through Harry's chest—his actual chest, but the action sends pain ricocheting through Harry's soul, blinding him to everything except the pain for several seconds that feel like an eternity. When it starts to fade he's momentarily aware of the fact that he's now on the floor staring up at the devils trap on the ceiling and the chains dangling above him, and then a curious weightlessness comes over him. He lets out a soft sigh as he gets light-headed and inexplicably giddy and hums contentedly. He feels good. Better than he's felt in... forever. He doesn't have any inclination to move, either. Yes, he's in an unknown location, but he's no longer possessed and there are two angels standing over him so he needn't worry, really. Why would anyone worry when they feel like this?

"Balthazar, turn it off," he hears Gabriel says, his voice sounding oddly distant and distorted. "You'll send the guy cuckoo."

"I'm leaving now anyway," Balthazar answers, just as distant and distorted.

"Don't forget you owe me one."

Harry hears a noise like wings and Balthazar disappears, and the light-headed and giddy feeling goes with him.

"Angels give off magic," Gabriel tells Harry as the sensation fades. "Even in our vessels. It tends to hit wizards and make you high, unless we suppress it."

Harry doesn't respond. He feels strangely heavy and hyper aware of his body now. It's odd to have complete control of himself for the first time in a year, to not feel the dark, oppressive pressure of the demon inside his head, to not feel like there are fingers wrapped around his throat ready to choke him at any moment.

Worse, though, is the shock of emotions in him. He never realised that the demon suppressed his emotions at all, but now the guilt, hatred, fear, despair, and other emotions he can't even name feel ten times worse than they did with the demon in him. It's like someone's dropped him in wet concrete and with every moment it hardens the weight on him gets heavier and heavier. He feels tears spill down his temples and chokes on a sob, closing his eyes as Gabriel crouches by him.

"I have a place you can stay," Gabriel offers softly, but Harry shakes his head jerkily. He does want to go somewhere safe, and he's fairly certain that if anyone can give him a safe space it's an archangel, but he also wants to shower in holy water to try and clean away the psychic filth he feels caked in, and he wants to sleep for eternity if it'll let him ignore everything he's feeling. But more than anything he wants to go to England and make sure Draco's alright.

* * *

Draco groans and lets out a keening animalistic noise of pain, too much blood in his mouth to scream from the pain of his skin splitting all across his body as if he's fabric tearing at the seams.

"The last few years have been the dullest of my time as a demon," he hears Sebastian say from above him. "Pretending to be human for that long is bad enough, but pretending to be your lover was even worse. You're about as interesting as a sack of horse shit and you're a terrible boyfriend. You spent way too much time studying for your stupid healing career—and look what good that is doing you now—when you should have been giving attention to your partner. If I was actually human, I'd have left you ages ago. But then, if I was human I'd never have dated you in the first place," he adds, sounding vaguely amused. "This guy I'm in, Sebastian, he's not even gay. Hundred percent straight, planned to marry a nice girl and have three kids. And he wanted to become a world class Auror. I guess I fucked that up for him, huh? Oh, and you know that whole thing about his parents and siblings dying that he told you about when you first met? That was me too. It was bad enough I had to put up with you and your family for the last year, never mind having to deal with his family as well."

Draco coughs, adding more blood to the rapidly growing puddle around his naked body and wishes he would pass out already. He can't lose much more blood, surely. It feels like he's already bled out half his body, but the healer in him knows he can't have if he's still conscious.

"S-stop," he gasps weakly. "P-please... stop."

"Sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you."

He opens his mouth to plead again, but his insides suddenly feel like they've been dipped in acid and he can only cry out in agony, curling in on himself against the pain.

"Really, Draco, you'll have to speak up. I can't—ack!"

Draco hears Sebastian choke off in mid sentence then hears the sound of wood splintering and Sebastian shouting an objection. Footsteps approach him and someone drops down beside him, then the pain in his stomach fades. The blood disappears from his mouth and warmth spreads through his chest as whatever Sebastian did to his lungs heals. He stares at his arm as the skin seals back together and the blood coating him cleans away, leaving him without so much as a scar. The pain of his injuries linger, but he's able to push himself up on shaking arms and lift his head to look at the figure knelt beside him.

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "Draco, I'm so, so sorry."

"Who are you?"

Harry closes his eyes, tears spilling down his cheeks, and swallows thickly, but looks at Draco again. "I'm Harry. I promise you, I'm Harry, I'm not a demon anymore."

Draco doesn't know whether to believe it. He wants to, but he's had too many shocks to the system in the past few days and now he doesn't know what to believe. He watches Harry get to his feet, backing away a small distance before turning to face Sebastian. Draco turns his own attention to the demon. He stands in the middle of an elaborate design that's carved into Draco's floor and which certainly hadn't been there two minutes ago. Sebastian's expression is mixed fear and anger as his completely black eyes stare at Harry.

"How did you escape?"

"I had some angelic assistance," Harry answers. He holds out his hands, makes a Wish, and a leather bound book appears. Draco gets to his feet as Harry opens the book, reads the table of contents with a deepening frown, then murmurs, "Show me an exorcism for demons."

The book's pages turn rapidly by themselves before eventually settling on a page towards the rear. Draco approaches slowly, but Harry still glances around at him. He flicks his eyes—both green, Draco notices, and looking absolutely real—over Draco's naked body and then looks away with a faint blush in his cheeks, and a simple black robe appears directly on Draco, making him jump. Harry's attention returns to the book and he puts his finger to the page, running it along the words as he starts to speak.

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica—_ "

"No! No, stop, you bastard! Stop!" Sebastian yells.

" _Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare—_ "

"This isn't the end! I'm not the only one! There's others near your family! We'll kill your brat siblings, all four of them, and the rest of your families!"

Harry jerks his head up, staring at Sebastian. Draco does the same.

"Four? I have _four_ siblings?"

"No," Draco says quietly. "No, he means mine too. Who are the demons?" he demands.

"Let me out and I'll tell you."

"Answer Draco's question," Harry orders.

"Elizabeth Crout, Edgar Wallace, and Tiana Meriden," Sebastian says automatically, then curses.

"Who are they?" Harry asks Draco.

"Mrs Crout is Nero, Vega, and Maddy's tutor. I don't know the other two."

"Who are they?" Harry demands of Sebastian.

"Edgar is neighbour to James and Narcissa Potter. Tiana lives opposite the Granger-Snape home."

Harry makes a Wish and three more people appear in the devil's trap, one a fat woman in her twenties, one a nimble old man, and one a friendly looking woman of indeterminate age. All of them cry out in surprise at their sudden relocation, but Harry Wishes them silent, looks down at the book, and begins reading again.

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt_. _Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos. Ut inimicos sanctae Ecclesiae humiliare digneris, te rogamus, audi nos_. _Terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo. Deus Israhel ipse truderit virtutem et fortitudinem plebi Suae. Benedictus deus. Gloria patri._ "

In unison, the four of them scream, heads thrown back as thick black smoke pours from their mouths, whirling up to an indistinguishable mass by the ceiling but never leaving the confines of the devil's trap before vanishing like mist. The four figures collapse to the floor, and silence falls over the room.

* * *

"You owe me an explanation."

Harry Wishes the floor repaired and slowly turns to face Draco. The four demon victims have gone; Tiana, Mrs Crout, and Edgar are dead from injuries the demons in them must have been sustaining and Harry Wishes them back to their homes, figuring the authorities will eventually find them and come up with their own theories on how they died. Sebastian has run off, swearing hatred for Draco and promising to out Harry. Harry simply wipes his memory of ever knowing Harry's alive.

Draco stands with his arms folded over his chest, his face pale and his eyes filled with too many emotions for Harry to read.

"I'm so-"

"Don't," Draco interrupts sharply. "Don't apologise for what the demon did. That wasn't you, I understand that, and I know you tried to stop it. Didn't you?"

Harry nods.

"Right. So it's not your fault. But what happened to you? Have you been possessed since you broke out of Azkaban? Is that why your death was faked and you've been Merlin knows where for all these years?"

Harry hesitates then shakes his head.

"Then what?" Draco demands. "Explain it to me, Harry. I mourned you!"

Harry backs up a step, wrapping his arms around himself. "I'm sorry, I... ask Lucius. He'll tell you everything."

"He won't tell me anything. He insists your dead even after what happened the other night. I want to hear it from you, Harry. What. Happened?"

"I faked it," Harry tells him quietly, eyes fixed on the floor. "I put myself in a coma, made a duplicate of my Horcrux and broke it to make the death seem real, and I let myself be buried."

"Why? You knew my father was going to sell his soul for me; Severus told me you fetched a book of demons from his house that day. So why do it?"

"Because of Dad. He didn't need me, Draco. He had a new baby and he was going to look after her. He was better off without me, they all were. I wanted him to move on with his life without me being a constant source of worry. So I faked my death, but..."

"But what?"

Harry looks at him apologetically. "Lucius was supposed to wake me up. He was meant to dig me up and shock me out of the coma and then we were going to go and do the demon deal to get you back. But he didn't. He left me there."

"In your coffin?" Draco clarifies. "My father left you buried in a coffin? For how long?"

"Six years. It would have been longer if the demon hadn't possessed me last summer. Maybe forever because I'm pretty sure my magic was keeping me suspended between life and death; it's the only way I could have survived under there so long. He... he didn't just leave me in my coffin, he moved me, took me out and put me in the ground so that if anyone got suspicious and tried to wake me up, they couldn't."

"Are you lying? Is this some attempt to turn me against my father?"

"No. Draco, I wouldn't—I'm telling the truth, I swear, Draco," he says pleadingly. "I trusted him. It was supposed to be good. We should have gone somewhere nice where the Aurors wouldn't catch me or him, and you and me were meant to be happy and together and... and he ruined it," he says bitterly. "He left me and fucked up everything."

He hugs himself tighter, half turning away and dropping his gaze to the floor. Draco doesn't say anything for a while, but Harry hears him move and glances over to see him walk over to the fireplace, looking down into the empty grate then turning away abruptly, eyes scanning the room until they fall on a set of robes discarded to one side. He stalks over, crouching and rifling through them until he draws out his wand. Harry tenses, but Draco just lights the fire, bringing flickering orange light and a wave of heat to the room, then he pockets the wand and turns to Harry.

"You've been possessed since last summer?"

Harry nods.

"So all year you've been... what? What do demons do when they're not spying on the people you love?"

A rush of shame fills Harry, making him look away again. "I don't—"

"Tell me!"

Harry flinches, but says quietly, "Killing people, mostly. At first he captured creatures. Half-breeds. To take to Crowley—the demon I made a deal with, but he's King of Hell now. Then before Christmas he joined with another demon and some hunters to kill Crowley and after that he just killed people. A lot of people."

"Then he came to kill me."

Harry nods, inhaling shakily and trying to hold back tears. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. I gave up, I stopped reacting to his violence. I thought there was no point and I was so sick and tired of screaming inside my own head and being unable to do anything, so I gave up, and he came after you to get a reaction out of me."

"You knew I was alive then."

"The whole time. Right after he possessed me, he wanted to show me that Lucius betrayed me so he came here and made me watch you with that demon."

"Sebastian. That was in October, wasn't it? You blew out my windows."

He nods. "It's all I could do. I couldn't—I tried. I wanted to get Sebastian off you, I wanted to tell you he was a demon, but I couldn't get control, I couldn't affect anything. I'm sorry, Draco. I'm sorry for everything."

Draco glances away, swallowing thickly, then looks back again. "You don't know about your family though, do you? When he mentioned siblings, you thought..."

Harry shakes his head. "Dad and Hermione moved, but the demon never looked for them. I think he thought there was no point when knowing about you brought me enough pain, or maybe he was waiting until he thought it was the best time. I don't know."

Draco nods. "You've got two. Siblings," he clarifies when Harry's expression turns confused. "Maddy—Madeleine. She's six, and Cailean's just over two years old."

"Then Nero and Vega...?"

"My twins siblings, from my mother and James. Nero's a boy, Vega a girl. They turned six last month."

"That's... I... James and your mother are married now, then?"

Draco nods. "Mother's happy. James isn't a bad step-father. He doesn't try and take my father's place, so... it's nice. I like having siblings."

"That's good. And my siblings... are they happy? Are Dad and Hermione good parents? Do they look after Maddy and Cailean?"

"Yes. They're happy," Draco says warily, like he expects Harry to be angry about it. Harry swallows and nods.

"Good. I'm glad. It's what I wanted. I, um... I should go."

"Go where?" Draco asks quickly, stepping forwards. "You... do you have anywhere to go?"

Harry nods. "The angel that smote the demon from me offered me somewhere to stay."

"An actual angel?"

Harry nods, a faint smile on his face. "It was a surprise for me too, but yeah. Angels are real and kind of terrifying."

"Why go? Don't you want to stay? See your dad, your siblings?"

"No," Harry answers without hesitation. "No, I can't—Draco, don't tell them I'm alive, please. Let them be happy, they don't need me and I can't stay. I almost got you killed—twice, because Sebastian only did it because of me. And I've spent a year being forced to hurt and kill more people than I ever did for Voldemort. I just... I can't stay, Draco. I need time to deal with this."

Draco doesn't argue with him. "Are you ever going to come back?"

"I don't know," Harry tells him honestly.

"And if more demons come after me? What then?"

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, mouth moving as he murmurs a Wish and a devil's trap appears etched on the floor right in front of the fireplace, then he opens them and glances over at a side table by the chairs and the _Rituale Romanum_ appears on it, open to a page near the back. "That's the exorcism. I've put demon repelling sigils on the outside of the house and devil's traps by all the external doors and in front of the fireplaces. You can put a Concealment Charm on them so it's all invisible if you want. That's all I can do," he says apologetically. "It'll keep them out of here, but I can't stop them outside."

Draco glances about as if expecting demons to start attacking the house en masse, but nods. "Thanks."

"Yeah." Harry clears his throat. "I guess... I'll go. Now."

"Wait, Harry—your eyes," Draco says, gesturing to them. "You can see, and they're real, aren't they?"

He nods. "When the angel smote me, it melted my fake ones. It killed me completely, actually, but he healed my body—eyes, epilepsy, everything but the scars—and put my soul back in it."

Draco's jaw drops. "He brought you back from the dead?"

"Sort of, I guess. I wasn't strictly dead though. I still have my Horcrux."

"Right. I'm glad. That you're alive."

"Me too. I mean—that you're alive. I'm glad Lucius brought you back. I'll... I should go. Bye, Draco."

Draco nods, says nothing, and Harry Disapparates.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Suicide. Mentions of murder, torture, demon possession.

_5th June 2012_

_Harry,_

_I went to see my father today. I bribed a guard to let me use the private room that only lawyers are supposed to use and I asked him about you. He insisted you were dead right up until I told him I knew everything. He apologised for leaving you, but I don't believe it. I won't see him again. I refuse. Let him rot in that prison for the next three years. I hope he's miserable until the day he dies._

_There were Aurors waiting for me when I got home. They told me Sebastian killed himself last night. He was found with his wrists slit in a park near where he grew up. I didn't cry; I think I was too shocked. This whole week has been one shock after the other. How is a man supposed to handle all that in such a short time? I don't know how I'm even supposed to react to his death. I never loved him, but I did feel something for him. He was almost the only friend I had after my resurrection – you would be surprised at how much people are unnerved by people who come back from death, although my generally unfriendly attitude didn't help. I confess that I didn't deal with my resurrection quite as well as I could have._

_Or if I'm honest, I didn't react to your (supposed) death as well as I could have. Still, I think I reacted better than you did to my death. I didn't come up with an entirely new universe and convince myself it was reality._

_But about Sebastian... he was my friend and I did feel strongly for him even if I didn't love him, but to discover what I did yesterday... how do I react to that? The person I thought I knew was a complete lie. He didn't exist. He was just a demon wearing someone else's face. I suppose in a way I've still lost an important person, just not in the way people think. But part of me just wants to hate him._

_Now I feel guilty. It's not Sebastian's fault he was possessed. He wasn't the one that spent six years misleading me and the demon ruined his life far more than it damaged me. He really did murder his parents and siblings and even after the demon's gone he still killed Sebastian. I may have lost a close friend and lover, but I've still got my life._

_Thanks to you, of course. I never thanked you for that. I'd have died if you hadn't arrived when you did. It's my 32nd birthday today (technically, though if you don't count the ones I missed while dead, it's only my 24th) and if it weren't for you I wouldn't have lived to see it. Even so, I can't say it's one of my better birthdays._

_I won't send this. You said you need time and space to deal with everything and to be honest, so do I, but I feel better for writing it and I hope you're alright wherever you are._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_* * *_

_26th June 2012_

_Dear Draco,_

_I don't know if I'll send this. Probably not because the last thing you need is anything from me after everything I put you through, but I needed to write it. I'm alone. I have been since I left your house. I'm staying in this little flat in Potenza, Italy that belongs to the angel I told you about. He doesn't live here but he said I can stay as long as I want. He's got a TV and a blu-ray player which is a Muggle thing that shows films. Do you remember what films are? We went to see one called the Lion King that summer of the Quidditch World Cup. That's pretty much what I've been doing all this time, just watching films and TV shows (which are short films). I try to read sometimes but I just can't concentrate enough to absorb anything. My head is so noisy. Every time I close my eyes I keep seeing the bodies of everyone I killed while I was possessed and I keep hearing their screams. I can't sleep more than an hour without having nightmares. It's worse than it was after my imprisonment in Malfoy Manor and I didn't think anything could be worse than then, but it is because it's not that I'm having nightmares of what the demon did *instead* of about the torture, but *as well*. I don't know how much shit a guy can put up with before it becomes too much._

_I'm definitely not sending this. You don't need to know about all that but god it's just awful. Really, really awful. Sometimes I think I should kill myself. I have my Horcrux back now. It sits next to the TV and every day I think about destroying it and killing myself. I'm sick of everything. The nightmares, the memories. I just want it to all end and you know what's stopping me? Demons. Not literally. I've covered every inch of the flat with devil's traps and repelling sigils. No demon is getting in here and I'm not leaving. But demons are stopping me because while I was possessed I learnt how they came into existence – they're human souls twisted by the tortures of hell until they're so demented and inhuman that they become demons. I know I'm going to hell when I die and I don't want to become that. That's the only reason I don't kill myself. I don't want to turn into something worse than I already am._

_[word scribbled out] The angel said I can redeem myself enough to go to heaven, if I try. I don't think I believe him. He said I'd have to rejoin my soul first, and I can only do that by feeling true remorse for killing my uncle and I don't know if I can do that. But even if I did that, I'd have to do a lot of good to make up for the bad things I've done, but I don't think I can ever do enough good to make up for the things I've done even if I started right now and never stopped._

_I need to shower. Again. I keep showering but I can still feel the blood and filth on me. What's it going to take to get it all off?_

_I love you. I'm sorry._

_From Harry._

_* * *_

_[no date]_

_FUCK YOU. Fucking FUCK you, Harry. Do you have any idea what you've fucking done to me? Do you know how many goddamned nightmares I've been having since you left? I wake up at night screaming sometimes. The scar on my face itches and the scars on my chest burn and every time they do it's YOUR face I see. Your stupid fucking face and I hate you for what you've done to me. I hate you for trying to kill me and I hate you for faking your death and putting me through all that pain years ago and I hate you for being the reason Sebastian was possessed and I hate you for getting me killed back in 97. Do you understand me?_

~~_I HATE YOU._ ~~

**Strikethrough added same day, many hours later, plus addendum:**

_I'm sorry. I don't hate you. It's just hard, Harry. I know it's not your fault – none of what I wrote earlier. It's not your fault the Assistant killed me or that Preston Yaxley told him to. It's not your fault my father didn't keep his word and wake you from your coma. It's not your fault the demons decided to possess someone to get close to me. Demons are evil. They do evil things. It's not your fault._

_Sometimes I wish you hadn't left. I want to scream and rage at you in person, to tell you everything I feel, but that's just selfish of me. I just want to take my anger and fear out on the only person who understands and that's really horrible._

_But I also wish you hadn't left because I want to hold you, Harry. I want to hug you and never let go, I want to feel you solid and alive, and I want to be with someone who might actually understand what I'm going through. My mother and James try, but they just don't truly understand. They didn't come face to face with true evil. Facing demons is a painfully unique situation. I just want to be able to commiserate with someone who knows that._

_I don't hate you. I hope you're well._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_* * *_

_14th July 2012_

_Dear Draco,_

_I almost did it last night. I set the flat alight with Fiendfyre. I heard somewhere that dying by fire is one of the worst ways to die and I figured if I'm going to be so pathetic as to kill myself I can at least punish myself while I do it. And I thought it'd be some preparation for hell. It'll be hot there after all. It was cowardly. I couldn't make myself destroy the Horcrux so setting everywhere on fire was a way to do that and kill myself all in one shot._

_It didn't work, obviously. [word scratched out] the angel whose flat this is came and put it out easy. He said I prayed for help which I don't remember doing, but I guess I did because I was stupidly grateful that I didn't die. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic. After he put the fire out he sat with me and I cried. He didn't seem to mind. I guess it's an angel thing. He even fixed Kiwi after the fire destroyed her. My teddy bear, do you remember her? It's a bit sad for a 31 year old man to have a teddy but I'm so pathetic at this point I guess it doesn't matter._

_He thinks I need to get out. He says staying here on my own isn't helping me deal with everything, but I'm too scared. I'm scared of being possessed again, I'm scared of meeting someone else who's possessed, I'm scared that I don't know how to function like a normal person. I've never been normal. My life is such a fucking mess. I was abused as a kid, I spent my teenage years with a fucking dark lord unknowingly living inside my head, I spent eight years in prison and seven of those so insane I convinced myself reality was a dream, then I spent six years in a near-dead coma before getting possessed by a stupid fucking demon who used to be the stupid fucking dark lord that lived in my fucking head._

_I didn't tell you that, but it's true. The demon who possessed me used to be Voldemort. How fucking fucked up is that? But he can't do it again. The angel said that when an angel smites a demon, they're properly dead and gone and can never come back, and I burned Voldemort bones because destroying a demon's human bones can destroy them as well, so he should be completely and utterly gone for good now._

_But I'm so angry. Angry and scared and I have no idea what to do. I don't want to be pathetic and so scared of everything that I shut myself in a flat belonging to an angel, but I can't help it._

_I love you._

_From Harry._

**Addendum, added 15** **th** **July 2012, shortly after midnight:**

_Do you know what I'm most scared of, Draco? I'm scared that the only thing I'm good at is hurting and killing people. It's what Voldemort trained me to do. I killed, willingly and gladly, when I was 16 years old and now I'm nearly 32 and I've never once felt a shred of remorse for it. While I was possessed I learned how to kill in so many ways it'd make you sick just hearing it. What else do I know how to do?_

_* * *_

_31st July 2012_

_Harry,_

_Happy birthday. I realised something today: when I saw you, you hadn't aged as much as you should have for someone who's 32. You didn't look that much older than me in fact, but when I was resurrected I came back as 17 so if we count years of life, I'm only 24. What's your excuse? Is it something to do with your Horcrux? Does making yourself sort of immortal also slow the aging process? Or is it just good luck? I'd say its good genes, but Severus hasn't aged well at all. He's almost got more grey in his hair than black and he looks 60 instead 50._

_My apologies, I don't mean to sound mean. It's true though. Time has not been kind to your father. Hermione doesn't seem to mind, but I always knew she was mad._

_My exam results are due in a week. I confess that I'm nervous. I've also just realised that you probably don't know what I'm talking about. It's not something that ever came up when we met, but the time and place wasn't exactly perfect. I'm referring to my healers' exams. After my resurrection I spent a while readjusting to life and dealing (badly) with your death and then my mother's pregnancy (it wasn't smooth; she went into early labour, had to have a Caesarean section and almost died, and the twins spent a few weeks in intensive care for lung problems), but the following September I went to Hogwarts to do my seventh year. I got the five NEWTs I needed (I dropped Ancient Runes; it reminded me too much of you) and went straight into Avicenna Healers' Institute the following September. I've just finished my five years of study there and if my exam results are sufficient then I have a position in the foundation training at Saint Mungo's starting on the 13th of August. That's two more years of general training, then I'll start working on a specific area. I'm thinking of going into paediatrics._

_I should do well in the exams; I've been top of my class the entire time I was at AHI, but the exams were only two weeks after everything that happened with you and Sebastian and I'm concerned about what the stress of that might have done to my performance. I suppose I'll find out in a week._

_I hope you're well._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_* * *_

_[date illegible]_

_Dear Draco,_

_I killed a demon today. I'm shaking so much I [illegible] the pen and I don't know whether I'm shaking [illegible] or exhilaration or_

_FUCK!_

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm just so emotional. I need to calm down. I'll tell you what happened. I've been going out because [word scribbled out] the angel said I had to so I didn't try setting things on fire again and it was fine for a bit. I can't speak a word of Italian but I used my Wish magic to make it so anything I say is in Italian and anything I hear is in English. Not that I speak to anyone. I just go to this park nearby and sit and watch people for a bit. At first it was bad and I could barely handle five minutes before I'd have a panic attack and need to go back, but I was getting better. Yesterday I was out for nearly an hour. I even went into some shops but I didn't buy anything because I didn't have any money and I didn't steal anything because I'm supposed to be a good person and good people don't steal._

_But that's all fucked up anyway because I'm not a good person because good people DON'T KILL. I didn't want to. I didn't mean to, but they attacked me when I was coming back to the flat and I panicked and then I Wished them out of existence and they disappeared. How fucked up is that, Draco? I made someone stop existing just because they attacked me. That was a person, an innocent person possessed by a demon and now they don't even exist anymore because of me._

_This is it, Draco. This is what I am. A killer. A monster. I deserve to die but I'm too much of a coward to do it. How did you ever fall in love with someone so horribly pathetic?_

_I love you._

_From Harry._

_* * *_

_18th August 2012_

_Dear Draco,_

_I did it. I actually killed myself this time. As much as I can, anyway. I forgot about the Horcrux so I didn't properly die, but I killed my body. I've been having nightmares still and I killed you. In a dream, I mean. I Wished you out of existence but not before I did really horrible things to you. Things that make me sick just thinking about it and things I can't make myself write. I woke up crying so hard I couldn't catch my breath. I threw up and I completely lost my mind. I got a knife from the kitchen and slit my wrists. All I could think about was that I had to die so I couldn't ever hurt you like that._

_It scared me. I died so quickly and when I was dead I was just floating over my body as a ghost-thing. I was there for ages before the angel came. He didn't bring me back to life straight away. He got my Horcrux and he asked me if I wanted him to destroy it. I said no but he started to do it anyway and I screamed and made it disappear and blew up the oven by accident. He told me then that it was a test to see if I truly meant it. He said if I try to kill myself again, he won't help me or bring me back if I succeed. I asked him what kind of angel didn't help people and he said that suicide is a mortal sin and it's pushing the boundaries of his permissions to bring me back even once even if I'm not properly dead. He did it though._

_I don't know what to do, Draco. I want to die but I don't. I know I deserve it, but the selfish part of me says no one deserves to die including me. The not selfish part says even if I deserve to die, I shouldn't because it's not paying for my sins. Even if I go to hell, I should pay for my sins on earth and the eight years in prison aren't enough and don't really count because I broke out. I think maybe I should do something to repent for my sins, to make up for them somehow, but how do you make up for killing as many people as I did while I was possessed? I don't think that's possible._

_I love you._

_From Harry._

_* * *_

_3rd September 2012_

_Harry,_

_I passed my exams with the fourth highest scores in AHI history and now I'm officially a Trainee Healer at St Mungo's. I've been at it three weeks and I'm absolutely exhausted. They warn you at AHI that no matter how hard we think being a healer is, it's harder. They're right. I'm sorry I can't say more right now, but I am so tired. It's not like you'll read this anyway. I just wanted to write it._

_I hope you're well._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_* * *_

_1st October 2012_

_Harry,_

_One of the nurses at St Mungo's was a demon. I don't know how long for, but she's not anymore. Since working there I've taken to intentionally knocking over salt shakers and carrying some in my pocket and sprinkling it on random people. It's a bad habit and James says I need to see a therapist about what happened in the summer, but this isn't some Obsessive Compulsive ritual I do to make myself feel better, it's a genuine precaution against evil._

_Anyway, I did it today on one of the nurses in the cafeteria and she hissed like I dropped acid on her and her eyes turned black. Unfortunately I hadn't actually thought any further than that; I suppose a part of me refused to believe I would come face to face with a demon ever again. She attacked me, I defended myself, and then a few other healers jumped in and grabbed her. The demon seemed to decide it couldn't take us all on and... left, I suppose is the word for it. Black smoke poured out of the nurse's mouth like Sebastian and the others did when you exorcised them, but instead of vanishing it smashed through a window and flew away. The nurse lived, thankfully._

_I'm going to memorise that exorcism. I should have done it before. Merlin only knows what the demon could have done to me if I'd discovered it somewhere isolated without onlookers to scare it off._

_Excuse my handwriting. I'm more unnerved by the whole thing than I care to admit. Is there anywhere that demons don't infiltrate? They've been in my home, near my family, and now at my place of work... how am I supposed to deal with that? How is humanity as a whole supposed to deal with it? These things can possess anyone, hide in plain sight, and their whole purpose in life seems to be to cause death and pain to humans._

_I guess you don't need me to tell you that. It's a good thing I won't send this. The last thing you need is to hear about demons when you're recovering from your own possession. I hope you are recovering, Harry, wherever you are._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_* * *_

_13th October 2012_

_Dear Draco,_

_[word scribbled out] fuck it. Gabriel. The angel's name is Gabriel. He says I can't tell anyone because he's supposed to be dead and he doesn't want anyone to find out he isn't, but I'll never send this so it doesn't matter anyway. Gabriel has been training me as a hunter. A demon hunter. I already knew most of what I needed to know anyway like the devil's traps and the salt and holy water and everything so he basically just taught me how to find them. It's a bit stupid really because I do it by pretending to be a police officer (a Muggle Auror) and investigating weird deaths. Almost all hunters are Muggles according to Gabriel so no one pretends to be an Auror and Aurors think most weird deaths are done by other wizards anyway._

_Like in Prague there was a group of Muggle tourists who died with their insides melted. I know there's a curse that can do that but Gabriel says hunting demons requires thinking like a Muggle and that half the unsolved murders that Aurors attribute to wizard attacks are actually the work of demons. But to find out if it is I have to talk to witnesses and friends/family and look for sulphur – which demons leave traces of wherever they go, which I didn't know before – or anything else that suggests it's demonic activity. Sometimes the witnesses didn't see anything useful or they did but they refuse to talk about it because they think they'll be called crazy and sometimes the Aurors get involved and wipe their memories which makes things harder._

_It's even harder because I have to find the deaths by reading in the newspaper, which means by the time I get to investigate the crime scene is mostly cleaned up and I have to talk to the police and hear what they found out. At least I can make people tell me everything and not question why I'm there. I asked Gabriel what other hunters do about that and he said they really fake being police with fake IDs and everything and even have "Hunter In Charge" people who mostly stay at home and pretend to be high ranking police that the real police can call on the phone (which is a thing Muggles use to talk to each other across long distances; I have one now) if they're suspicious about the hunters and want to speak to the hunters' superior. But they also do research on demons and monsters and things to find out how to kill them. Gabriel introduced me to one – Gia, an Italian woman. She's a squib, which makes her really good for the job because she already knows about magic and different creatures._

_I can also cheat a bit by using my magic to feel for demons. That sounds weird but it's not. When you were dead I went back in time to try and save you from ever dying, but the time turner took me back too far and I ended up in 1989 and I went to see the Assistant to ask him about time travel so I could try not to muck up when I saved you and he taught me loads about magic. I learned how to use magic to see, basically by feeling the magic in the air and using it to tell me where everything is, and I discovered that different things feel different. Around humans magic just sort of buzzes and on wizards it flows into them (which is how we're able to use it) and around werewolves it feel sort of furry. Around it demons it's oily so I can just feel everyone around me and know if they're a demon just by how they feel. I've found a couple like that._

_I can feel souls like that, too. Not when they're in people, but when they're dead, like right after they've died I can feel their soul leave their body and I can feel a reaper come and take them away. They're hot. That surprised me but I don't know why. I guess I thought souls would be cold like dead bodies._

_When I've found a demon, I catch them and take them somewhere isolated, trap them in a devil's trap, and then I exorcise them. I try to heal the body of the person they're in first if they've got injuries so that when the demon is out they can still live, but sometimes they're insane from the possession anyway. It does that if a demon is in you too long._

_I protected myself against possession, as well. There's this symbol you can get tattooed on you or wear as a charm and it stops demons being able to possess you. I got it tattooed on my left arm, where the Dark Mark used to be. It seemed fitting._

_But sometimes the deaths aren't even caused by demons. Sometimes it's ghosts or monsters. Did you know that Muggle ghosts aren't like wizard ghosts? Even if a nice Muggle becomes a ghost after they die, they always turn evil and start attacking living people. Gabriel says it's because without magic their souls aren't strong enough to retain their living personality on earth, so they fixate on something – usually something about how they died. I found one ghost of a woman who died when her husband found her cheating and shot her with a gun (a Muggle weapon) and her lover and himself and afterwards she felt guilty about being unfaithful so she would kill people who cheated on their spouses. I was going to exorcise her but Gabriel said that only sends ghosts away from their haunt and that to stop them killing people I have to salt and burn their remains so there's nothing left tying them to the earth._

_Sometimes its other things that kill people, like vampires or werewolves or things like that. Gabriel said hunters kill things like that, which at first I thought was bad because werewolves aren't evil. It's not their fault they turn into a monster and the Ministry is supposed to handle them anyway when there's a rogue werewolf, but I found out that sometimes Muggles get bit and the Ministry doesn't even know about it and the Muggles can go for ages without knowing they're even a werewolf. Which sounds weird but apparently Muggle brains make them ignore their transformation in the same way they ignore the Knight Bus and the Leaky Cauldron. They just completely forget about it and if they find their house all torn up they just think it was a burglar or something. And they don't even turn completely into werewolves – they turn into these half human/half wolf thing which they never taught us in Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons._

_I still didn't like the idea of killing them though and I just report them to the local Ministry. Gabriel said most hunters are Muggles and kill werewolves and things because they don't know about Ministries so they kill them because that's the only way they know how to protect people. It makes them sound like savages when I put it like that but it makes sense really. I get it. I killed that demon in August because it was attacking me and I didn't know how else to protect myself._

_[entire line scribbled out; few words readable underneath, including 'fault', 'stupid', 'evil']_

_It was to protect myself even if there were other ways to deal with it. I can't be blamed for panicking. That what's Gabriel says anyway. I don't know if I believe it. Anyway the Muggles can't be blamed for protecting themselves from things that want to kill them. They don't have magic so they have to kill._

_I killed too. Some creatures don't have human-level intelligence like vampires or an excuse of being out of control like werewolves. There's this thing called a wendigo that kidnaps hikers and campers in woods and takes them to caves and things and store them away to slowly eat their flesh. They can't speak and they just prey on humanity. They don't do anything else so killing them is the only thing to do. There's other things that do it too, that just want to kill humans or eat them or drink their blood. Sometimes I think that I shouldn't kill them anyway because they're like animals and just doing what they do and we're unfortunate enough to be their prey, but we prey on other animals and they'll defend themselves from us if they can, so it's not that different for me to kill predators that prey on us._

_This is getting really long but you'll never read it anyway and I need to write it down. Writing letters to you is about the only thing that helps keep my head straight. Even though you'll never read them, pretending I'm talking to you and writing everything down makes it easier to keep all my thoughts in order and not go crazy. Weirdly hunting demons helps with that too. Maybe because I'm doing something instead of just sitting around or maybe because it feels like I'm doing something to make up just a little bit for what I've done. It's only a really little bit because I can never really make up for everything, but it's something. It's enough to stop me trying to kill myself again._

_Exercising is helping as well. Gabriel kept saying it would but I didn't believe him but it does. Also demons and monsters have a habit of trying to physically attack me so I need to exercise so I'm not so easy to take down. I know I have magic to help me, but some monsters move stupidly fast and I'm not always quick enough to stop them knocking me to the floor. Gabriel says I'm skinny enough I could be snapped like a twig, but the problem is the monsters are strong enough they really could do that, so I need to get fitter to defend myself._

_I love you._

_From Harry._

_* * *_

_16th November 2012_

_Harry,_

_It's the 15th anniversary of my death. Is it strange that I find today such an emotional day? Everyone else in the country is celebrating Voldemort's death, but for me this day isn't one to celebrate. I lost my life today and the fact that I have it back doesn't seem to have made it any less weighty._

_It's also the day I lost you, the first time. Would you care to know that your father has as much interest in celebrating today as I do? He shuts himself inside all day and he hates it when anyone suggests he should be celebrating. I can't blame him. It's alright for everyone else – to them, today is just the anniversary of the day Voldemort died and that is something to celebrate, but for him, for me, for my mother... today is the anniversary of a day of extremely bad things. I died, Severus nearly killed you, and it's the reason you spent over seven years insane._

_I don't want to linger on it. I have to get to work in an hour anyway and I'm still not dressed, but I wanted to write a quick letter to you before I have to put up with the general public telling me to cheer up because it's a national holiday. As if national holidays mean anything to healers; we still have to work and put up with the extra influx of patients who spent their day off being stupid and getting their feet turned into ducks or something.  
_

_I hope you're well._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_p.s. You're going to have a new sibling. Hermione's pregnant again. It's due in June._

_* * *_

_25th December 2012_

_Dear Draco,_

_Merry Christmas. I hope it's merry for you anyway. I'm in Madrid. It's very pretty with the decorations, but there's no snow. There should be snow at Christmas. I might visit somewhere with snow later. Maybe even Hogsmeade. I haven't been to a wizarding area since before I "died"._

_I thought about visiting you. I'm not half mad and suicidal anymore. Not really. Sometimes I still think about it, but I don't think I'll try it again. But I don't think that'd be a good idea still. You probably hate me anyway after everything that happened and I'm not sure that I'm fit to be around anyway. I'm not sure I ever will be again, but I thought about just coming to see you without you knowing and maybe leaving a present or something, but I know I shouldn't. You should move on and deal with everything without any reminders of me. I only bring trouble and death wherever I go, so I hope you're happy with your life and it's good._

_I know I don't really deserve one but I gave myself a Christmas present. Although I don't know if you can really call it a present and it's going to sound really fucked up actually, but I took out my left eye and created another fake blue one and made it so I can see through things with it. I like it better with them different colours, even though it makes people notice me more, but you know I can just use magic to go unnoticed whenever I want so it doesn't really matter, but I missed being able to see through things and it'll be really useful when I'm hunting. I know it's messed up of me to mutilate myself like that, but then I've cut runes into every inch of me and I tried to kill myself just this year. I'm just generally messed up, I guess._

_I love you._

_From Harry._

_* * *_

_6th January 2013_

_Harry,_

_It's you. Damn you, Harry. You're gone from my life again but still you're here in ways you shouldn't be. Merlin, God, and everything else damn you, Harry._

_The demons are after you. There was another one at the hospital, this one pretending to be a patient. I've learnt the exorcism by heart now, but they caught me in the bathroom (these demons have no sense of decorum; can a man not even take a piss in peace?) and before I exorcised it the demon said they're looking for you. Crowley wants you. That's the demon you made your deal with, isn't it? But I remember you mentioning something about being king now. Is that right? Either way, he's looking for you. I don't know what for, but he's a demon so do you really need to ask?_

_I'm honestly considering sending this letter. I don't want demons coming after me, Harry. I don't want them coming after you, either, but I'm not sure the demon believed me when I said I don't know where you are. Damn it all to hell, Harry. Why did you ever have to get mixed up with demons? Why did you have to drag me into it?_

**Added later after many hours failing to get to sleep:**

_I hope you're well. Look after yourself, Harry. I don't want the demons to get you._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_* * *_

_12th February 2013_

_Dear Draco,_

_I don't remember if I mentioned when we met, but Crowley, the demon I sold my soul to when I was a kid, is now the King of Hell. A few years ago Lucifer broke out of hell and tried to start the apocalypse, but two hunters called Sam and Dean Winchester (they're brothers; I've met them, they're a bit scary and REALLY tall) stopped him and sent Lucifer to this special cage in hell that keeps him trapped. Afterwards, Crowley took over._

_But because he was just a crossroads demon before that and there are other really powerful demons, he had to fight to keep his position as king. I think I mentioned to you that when I was possessed Crowley asked the demon to capture half-breeds and bring them to him – basically all the kinds of monsters I've been hunting while I hunt demons. It turns out that Crowley wanted them because when they die they go to purgatory and Crowley wanted to find out where purgatory was so he could open it and steal monster souls so he could become more powerful, because according to Gabriel higher-tier demons and angels can absorb souls and get super powerful._

_Well eventually he found out a way to open a gate to purgatory but it also turns out Crowley was working with an angel. It sounds crazy, an angel and a demon working together, but it's true. They opened a gate but the angel, who's called Castiel, betrayed Crowley and absorbed all the souls himself and became insanely powerful. Properly insanely powerful. Gabriel says he had almost more power than even me while he had all those souls and that he was basically a god._

_But his vessel – oh yeah, angels don't have their own bodies on earth. They possess people like demons do but they have to get permission from the person they want to possess first so I guess it's not so bad. But anyway, Castiel's vessel couldn't handle all that power so he had to put the souls back, but not all of them went. These creatures called leviathans stayed behind. According to Gabriel, leviathans are one of the first things God made but they were so destructive and ate everything that He locked them away in purgatory. Angels are scared of these things. That's how bad they are. Demons, monsters, and angels are afraid of them_

_But I can kill them. Gabriel told me nothing can kill them except God or a special God weapon, but I met one in Florida in America and I Wished it out of existence just like I did with that demon before. Does that make me a god? Or just a worse monster than the worst monsters in existence?_

_I asked him about God too, if He was really real. Apparently He is but it's not just Him _–_ all the gods are real, the Celtic and Greek and Indian and Egyptian and everything. He said gods are beings of power and belief, that they're really powerful but their power is affected by their believers. The more people who believe in them and who worship them, the more powerful they are, so a lot of the old gods are way less powerful than they used to be and there are even gods that died because absolutely no one believed in or worshipped them anymore. I think that's kind of sad. Also he said they're not completely invincible either. Gods can be killed and a lot of the old gods who lost their power were killed by Lucifer when he tried to start the apocalypse, because they were planning to stand against him. Lucifer tried to kill Gabriel too, which is why everything thinks he's dead. I'm glad I was "dead" when all that was happening because Gabriel said Lucifer would have done anything to get me on his side. Being possessed at Crowley's command was bad enough; I think being possessed by a demon working for Lucifer would have been worse._

_I love you._

_From Harry._

_* * *_

_1st March 2013_

_Harry,_

_I'm being followed by demons. I wish I could say it's just paranoia, but I mean it. Demons are following me. They think I know where you are and they're tailing me to see if you turn up. I try to exorcise as many as I can, but it's hard to keep track of all these bastards and they're getting smart about not revealing themselves._

_I found an anti-possession symbol. It comes as a charm as well and I convinced my family and yours to wear them. They think I've gone mad but they agreed. I'm not wearing one; I had it tattooed onto my hip instead. Necklaces and bracelets are too easy to rip off. With the tattoo, no demon can ever possess me. I hope you know about this and get one yourself._

_I'm finally getting used to the long hours at work. Not to say that it doesn't still leave me exhausted most of the time, but I'm enjoying my work and I'm used to the hours now. I'm glad I picked this career; I like helping people, as un-Slytherin as that sounds. There's a satisfaction in saving someone's life or even just curing them of an illness that makes them miserable._

_I hope you're well._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_* * *_

_24th April 2013_

_Dear Draco,_

_Did you know there are different species of vampires? I found out that vampires from the Americas are different than the ones from Europe. They can walk in sunlight without dying, it just hurts them like really really bad sunburn, and they can't be killed by a stake to the heart and they don't have two fangs either. They have a whole set of sharp teeth that drop down from their gums when they're going to feed._

_It got me thinking about other differences as well, because I remembered that while I was possessed I met "Muggle Ghouls". They're sort of like normal ghouls except instead of eating spiders and moths and being mostly harmless, they live in graveyards and eat dead people, though sometimes they eat living people instead. I was in the USA at the time and I thought it was just that the Americans having a different name for things like they do sometimes, but its not. They have harmless ghouls as well, but the Muggles don't really know about those so what they call ghouls are these flesh eating things. I've not found another word for them yet so I'm calling them Muggle Ghouls and the harmless ones Wizard Ghouls._

_Hunting monsters and demons makes me think I should have taken Care of Magical Creatures instead of Arithmancy. Maybe then I wouldn't be so surprised by everything I find out, although I don't think even CoMC taught about shape-shifters. They're kind of like metamorphmagi but instead of just changing their features, they shed their entire skin (but not cleanly like a snake; it's messy and disgusting and they leave it lying around all goopy, it's gross) and make themselves look like someone else. They're not actually monsters in my opinion, except this one I met in Warsaw was killing kids, but I didn't kill it. The Aurors were able to catch it. I'm glad about that._

_I love you._

_From Harry._

_* * *_

_2nd May 2013_

_Harry,_

_The twins 7th birthday was yesterday. Mother and James brought Vega a broom and she nearly killed me flying around on it. She takes after James in attitude; he says she'll end up in Gryffindor and I've got to agree with him. She's a menace, and incredibly defensive about her brother. Earlier this year I took them both to a park and some other kids started picking on Nero. Before I could get to them, Vega stepped in and punched one of the kids. Bloodied his nose impressively but I don't know where she learned to hit like that._

_Nero is quieter and completely uninterested in flying and Quidditch, which James and I agree is a mortal sin, but he's incredible with a paintbrush. He almost wet himself with joy when he opened the art set he got for his birthday and Mother said he kicked up a bigger fuss about going to bed last night than Vega did because he wanted to stay up and paint, and Vega can throw an impressive tantrum when she puts her mind to it. (Though my mother claims I was worse at that age; I'm convinced she's exaggerating. I don't remember being such a terror.)_

_Your sister isn't bad for a seven year old. She gets on well with Vega, because they both love flying, and she gets on with Nero because he lets her put his hair in pigtails and bows, though it does make him look a bit ridiculous. His hair isn't really long enough for pigtails and although it's a darker shade of blond than my mother, it's as messy as James' and not suited to bows. Vega's hair is too short for either and somehow it manages to be even messier than her father's. Clearly I inherited all my mother's sleek hair genes and the twins had no choice but to take after James. Unfortunately they also inherited his poor eyesight. Both of them have been wearing glasses since they were three._

_Are you ever going to come back and see your siblings? You don't even know what they look like. Maddy looks a bit like you, I think. Cailean looks like he's going to take after Severus; he's unfortunately inherited the over-sized nose. Have I ever mentioned that I'm glad you managed to avoid that? He's got black hair as well but fingers crossed he takes after you and doesn't have Severus' signature greasy hair. I'm glad you didn't end up with that either. Or maybe you just showered more often._

_I apologise. I'm not really being mean about your family; I'm just teasing. You should come back sometime and see them and we can talk about it together._

_I hope you're well._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_* * *_

_31st May 2013_

_Dear Draco,_

_I almost got killed last night – by a MUGGLE._

_I'm an Animagus now. I managed it while I was in Azkaban and I turn into a fox. I was chasing a werewolf through a forest in Turkey (chasing it as a fox is better because they don't pay as much attention to animals and its faster going through a forest as a fox than as a person) and this Muggle shot me. I don't know if she meant to or if she was trying to shoot the werewolf and missed, but I felt the bullet come so close it singed my fur and then she shot again and that time hit the tip of my tail so now my butt hurts. I had to stop to knock her out and Wish her back to the edge of the forest where there was a hut she could stay in for safety before I got back to the werewolf. I almost lost it, but eventually I caught up with it and I created a cage for it. It was a witch and she was intentionally running around without taking the wolfsbane potion. I left her in the cage and summoned some Aurors to deal with her. I hate werewolves who do that._

_It made me think about my dad and siblings though. Does he handle his transformations okay? I know he used to hate werewolves but it's been nine years since he got bit so does he not anymore? Has he come to terms with it? And what about Maddy and Cailean – did they inherit any of his werewolf traits? Is it something that can be passed on? They never taught that in Hogwarts and it wasn't something I ever thought to ask Remus about. He might not even know seeing as he never had kids. I hope it doesn't pass on. Being a werewolf sucks but it would be really horrible to have it right from birth._

_I love you._

_From Harry._

_* * *_

_1st June 2013_

_Harry,_

_Congratulations, you're the big brother to a new little sister. Her name's Sabrina. She weighs 5lbs 9oz, has amber eyes, and she's allergic to silver. They're worried she'll be a werewolf._

_I hope you're well._

_Love,_

_Draco._

_* * *_

_24th June 2013_

_Harry,_

_Full moon last night. Sabrina didn't transform._

_The demons have stopped following me. Are you alright? I hope to Merlin this doesn't mean they've got to you. Maybe I should actually send you something, but I know you can hide yourself effectively, so if the letter came back to me how would I know if it's because you're hiding or because you're dead?_

_Please be alright._

_Love,_

_Draco._


	5. Chapter 5

**26th June 2013**

Harry wakes up when his arm gets cut off.

He's in a hotel room in Dubai. Over time, he's started hunting demons outside of Europe, taking the time to also visit interesting places while he's out. He can't spend every minute of his time hunting and as he slowly accepts that he truly doesn't want to die despite the still regular episodes of crippling depression and self-hatred, he forces himself to find things of interest that can remind him of that fact. History is inevitably the first thing he turns to, but instead of sticking solely to books he visits places he's only ever read about. He doesn't always want to go back to Gabriel's flat in Potenza though, so sometimes he sleeps as a fox in the open, if the weather's good enough, or he gets a hotel room.

His arm is cut off just above the elbow and he wakes with a scream. While he's still completely unsure of what the hell is going on and why his arm is suddenly searing with pain, an all too familiar black smoke forces itself into his mouth and he stops screaming as the demon settles in place within his body, stealing the control from him. It sits up in the bed, looking down at the cauterised stump his left arm has become and doesn't care for his hysterical crying inside his head. It looks instead at the two demons surrounding the bed—one in the body of a hotel concierge, who's holding a magically heated axe, and Crowley.

"You're very hard to find, Harry," Crowley says. "I've been searching for you for a year, but you kept exorcising all my demons so I wasn't able to get a message to you. You see, I _did_ want your assistance on something and I was very willing to make a more than generous offer in exchange for said help, but I no longer need you so now I'm going to make a point of showing you what happens to people who interfere with as many of my demons as you have. You know what to do," he adds to the demon possessing him, who nods, gets to his feet, and Disapparates.

* * *

"No! That's mine!"

A toddler's wail sounds through 11 Benedict Way, almost immediately followed by a baby's cry which echoes through the crystal that lights up red at Severus Snape's side. He groans, rubbing a hand over his face even as he saves his document and gets up from his stool, closing the lid of his laptop. Initially he scorned the Muggle technology when Hermione got one, but he has come to appreciate the worth of word processing programs when it came to writing up his notes and journal publications, and he can't argue with the veritable source of information that the internet provides, even containing a surprising amount of information on all things magical, with magic-centric forums and websites springing up across the net as Muggleborns and Muggle-curious purebloods explore the technology.

He's not yet discovered a cure or suppressant for werewolves, nor the cause of it, though his research has lead him to believe it's not anything in the blood, but he has improved the Wolfsbane to the point of requiring only a single dose the day of the full moon. He believes werewolves are the result of some type of genetic mutation, but with three children now he doesn't have as much time to focus on research.

He pockets the glowing red crystal before leaving his lab, set up in the house's garage, and heads through a door that takes him straight into the kitchen, from where he moves to the hall and then the sitting room, where Maddy is clutching a model of a winged palomino horse and wiping saliva off the head while glaring at her wailing brother. Cailean stands by her, one hand tugging at her robes and the other reaching up to try and take the horse back from Maddy.

"I have just put your sister to sleep," Snape growls, drawing the attention of both children, though Cailean's wails don't decrease, "and your mother is trying to nap. I told you to keep the noise down."

"Cailean was eating Simon!" Maddy cries and then gestures to a pile of other model animals that are trotting around or waving their legs in the air from being knocked over. "He's got all his toys; why does he have to steal mine?"

"He's three, Maddy, he doesn't understand." But Snape crouches in front of Cailean, tugging him around to face him and wrapping his hands around the boy's wrists to pull his arms down. "Cailean, that's Maddy's toy. You have to play with your own."

"Horsey!" Cailean cries. "Want horsey!"

"There's several horses in that pile. Simon is Madeleine's."

Cailean just cries louder and stomps his feet. The crystal in Snape's pocket is now vibrating and he sighs irritably, picking Cailean up under the arms and setting him down by the pile of animals. "Play with them. Maddy, put your tongue away," he adds, turning back to catch her sticking it out at Cailean. She blushes and looks down. "If you can't play with Simon without teasing your brother, take him upstairs or I will take him away."

He waits for a nod then leaves the room, ignoring Cailean's continuing tantrum, and stalks to the stairs, taking them two at a time and going straight to the nursery. There's no sign or sound of Hermione, making him think she must have put a Silencing Charm on the master bedroom. He can't blame her.

He crosses the room and first taps his wand to the crystal on the dresser, muttering the personalised password that makes it turn back to a gentle white glow. The one in his pocket stops vibrating and the echo of the baby's cries vanish, leaving only the real thing as he bends over the crib and picks up three week old Sabrina. Her cries quiet when he does and fade away completely as he rocks her and hums a lullaby.

When he's got her back to sleep, he returns to the garage just to tidy up his papers and make sure they don't get lost before he next gets on the laptop. There's no point trying again right now, not when Cailean is still throwing a tantrum and Maddy is taunting him. But he gets to the garage and finds a man standing at his workbench, short, dark haired, and missing his left arm from the elbow. Instantly Snape has his wand out and throws a Stunning Spell at the man's back, but the beam of red hits him without doing anything and the man turns, letting Snape see familiar green and blue eyes in a familiar scarred face.

"That's not a very nice way to greet your oldest son... _father_."

* * *

James dies in the middle of the end of year feast. He feels it coming—his Bond to Snape surges with shock, anger, fear and then pain, and an instinct in James tells him he can't get to Snape before Snape dies and takes James with him.

His own emotions overwhelm what he's feeling from Snape then, fear and despair and anguish pulling a wordless cry from him that makes the rest of the staff and the students nearest the staff table look over at him.

"James, are you alright?" asks Aurora Sinistra, now Headmistress after McGonagall retired three years ago.

"No," he says, voice shaking. "I'm dying."

"What? James!"

He ignores the shouts as he surges to his feet, absolutely everyone's attention on him now as he runs from the hall and into the side room, the nearest room he can get to. He casts a locking charm on the door to slow down anyone coming after him and then pain like the Cruciatus Curse rips through him, forcing a scream out of him and driving him to the floor. He has the sensation of fire in his chest, bursting out to engulf his entire body in all-consuming agony that leaves him utterly unable to think of anything else.

And then it's gone and he finds himself standing in the ruined remains of the room, while his body lies on the floor. Several of the portraits on the wall have been knocked off their pegs and others have fractured frames, while the wood in the fireplace has been blown from the grate and soot scatters the floor around it. Even the walls are dented and scratched.

A hand grabs his arm. "Quickly, we have to move before someone else reaps Severus."

He gapes at the woman standing beside him. "Lily?"

She smiles. "Hi, James. It's been awhile."

"Wha- I don't understand. Why are you here?"

"I'll explain later. We have to go."

He doesn't have time to respond. They vanish from the classroom as though Apparated, though James knows they can't have from inside Hogwarts, then they reappear in the garage of 11 Benedict Way to find it unusually crowded. The first thing James notices is Snape's body, on the floor and his face contorted with pain while liquid silver drips from his eyes, nose, and ears and dribbles out of his mouth. Even the sweat beaded on his face is tinted silver and the thick veins in his throat glimmer through his death white skin.

Snape himself stands over his body, while a middle-aged man in a tailcoat stands nearby, a solemn expression on his face and hands clasped in front of him, but all of Snape's attention is on the figures on the other side of the garage, both male and only one familiar to James—Harry.

Even after what happened to Draco the year before, James is still shocked to see Harry alive. His skin still bares the scars that Harry carved into himself so long ago, but other than that he doesn't look like the young man James remembers burying seven years ago. He's no longer stick thin, instead carrying a healthy amount of weight on him, but the most startling change is the fact that his right eye is sheer black all over and his left arm is amputated just above the elbow.

The second man is of average height, hair a dirty blonde, and hazel eyes bearing a glint of mischief. He holds Harry with obvious ease, one hand clutching Harry's arm while the other holds a long knife, handle and blade both made of silver, the tip of it pressed against Harry's throat.

"You!" Lily gasps when they appear. "Trickster!"

"Not exactly," the stranger replies, speaking with an American accent. "But I'm so glad you remember me. I have work to do, though, so I'll leave you and your co-worker to your jobs. Don't worry about your son."

"Wait!" Snape cries, but the man vanishes, taking Harry with him. Snape whirls on Lily.

"Who was that? Where has he taken Harry?"

"I don't know," Lily admits. "But that was an angel blade and if anything can trick a reaper into thinking they're not what they are, it's an angel."

"An angel? Then is Harry safe with him? Will it take the demon from him?"

"Perhaps," Lily answers. "I can't say what he'll do, but I don't think he'll kill him."

"It's none of _our_ concern, in any case," remarks the man in the tailcoat, "and I don't know what you're doing here, Lily. I'm reaping the animal."

Lily's expression hardens. "No, you're not. Severus comes with me and I will fight you on it, Mercer."

Mercer sniffs disdainfully. "You would. I suppose I might as well let you then. Lily Potter always gets her way, after all."

Lily rolls her eyes. "This is why I broke up with you, Mercer, and you know I use Evans now."

"Of course. _He_ will hear about this. You're breaking the natural order; Severus Snape is meant to be in Purgatory."

"The natural order says they die; it doesn't determine where they go afterwards. I'll face Death when he does find out, but don't think you can use him to threaten me into letting you take Severus."

Mercer lifts his chin. "Very well," he says snottily, and vanishes.

James turns to Lily. "You dated that guy?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, then adds without giving her time to answer, "Dead people date?"

"Yes," she replies, amused. "We dated for a few months. Come on, I need to take you On before he reports me. I don't think the boss will stop me, but he might do, so the quicker I take you On the better."

"On?" Snape asks sharply. "On where?"

Lily frowns then says, "I'm already breaking the rules so I suppose it doesn't matter if I tell you. I'm taking you Elsewhere. I'll explain more when we get there," she adds when Snape opens his mouth to ask another question, holding out one hand towards him while extending the other to James. "Hands, gentlemen."

James doesn't hesitate, but Snape makes no move to approach them. "I can stay if I want, can't I?"

"Yes, but it will do you no good, Severus."

"I have children, Lily, and a partner."

"I know that, but staying won't help them. Staying behind will only make it harder for them to move on."

"Sabrina is three weeks old. I failed to watch one child grow up; you want me to do it again?"

"Do you think I don't know how you feel right now, Severus? I know what it's like to have to leave your child," she reminds him. "But staying a ghost will not do her any good. You can't raise her like this. You're dead, Severus, and if you want what's best for your family you will come with me. Trust me, I've seen what happens to families when a dead member stays. It only causes more pain."

"Come on, Severus," James adds. "We should move on. Lily's right; we can't do anything for our families now. I'm no happier about leaving Narcissa and the twins than you are about leaving Hermione and the kids, but we've got to."

Severus closes his eyes, a stricken look crossing his face, but nods and opens them again, starting towards the two, only for the door to open behind him. He whirls and hurtles towards it, hands out to push it shut again, but the door just opens straight through him. He gasps in shock and there's an accompanying noise from Maddy as she steps into the room and notices the body on the floor.

"No," Snape breathes. "Maddy, get out!"

He reaches towards her but his hands pass straight through her shoulders. She runs over to the body on the floor, eyes wide and hands shaking as she drops to her knees next it.

"Daddy?"

"No," Snape moans. "No, she shouldn't see this."

Maddy's breath hitches and she scrambles to her feet again, running out the room, screaming. "MUM! Mum, get up, Dad's hurt!"

"Severus, come with me," Lily urges. "This won't help you. Come with me, please."

He doesn't move, but neither does he stop her when she pulls James over and takes Snape's hand.

"I'm sorry, Severus, I really am," she says quietly, and the three of them vanish.

* * *

Gabriel takes Harry to his flat in Italy, smites the demon inside of him, then leaves Harry floating over his dead-again body while Gabriel flits to Dubai to fetch Harry's arm. Crowley is still in the hotel room, rifling through Harry's backpack, but he takes one look at Gabriel, swears, and promptly vanishes. Gabriel lets him; he doesn't care enough to do anything about Crowley right now. He takes Harry's arm and backpack, returns to Italy, reattaches the arm to his body and then revives him.

Harry doesn't sit up immediately when he's alive again. He looks down at his arm, flexing his fingers, twisting his wrist, and bending it at the elbow, then he pushes himself up and buries his face in both hands as a sob spills out of his mouth.

"I killed them. I killed my dad."

"The demon killed them," Gabriel corrects, but Harry looks up at him angrily.

"I was there. I couldn't stop it! I killed my father, and James!" He shuts his eyes as the anger fades to grief and tears spill down his face. He doesn't bother to wipe them away, just opens his eyes again and looks pleadingly at Gabriel. "Bring them back to life."

Gabriel sighs. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" Harry demands, scrambling to his feet.

"It's against the rules to bring the dead back to life, Harry, and I can't just go reviving everyone who dies. The world would get over populated real quick. More so than it is already."

"You did it to me. Three times now!"

"You were never really dead."

Harry stares at him for a long moment, mouth moving like he's trying to find some way to convince Gabriel but can't find the words, then he drops back to the floor, bangs his fists against the carpet and screams with pure despair.

* * *

 

**Elsewhere**

"Sirius, stop!"

Sirius, naked and knelt on the floor in front of the throne in Buckingham Palace, draws away from his lover's crotch and looks up at him apologetically. "Too much teeth again?"

"No, look."

Sirius turns his head to look out the open doors of the throne room and sees three figures in the neighbouring Green Drawing room, all familiar.

"Is that Prongs?"

Lupin nods, snatching up his robe from the floor and hurriedly pulling it on. Sirius doesn't bother with his, just gets up and runs out the room, throwing himself at James and flinging his arms around the man's neck. Lupin grabs the man's robe and follows more sedately, muttering about idiots that never grow up, and greets the other two newcomers.

"Hello, Lily, Severus."

"Hey, Remus."

Snape glares at him then turns to Lily. "Why are we here and why are _they_ here? I thought you were taking us 'Elsewhere', wherever that is."

"This is Else-"

"Sirius, put some bloody clothes on!"

Sirius pulls away from hugging James, a grin on his face even as he takes his robe from Lupin and dresses.

"Haven't changed, have you, Padfoot?" James says.

"Not in the slightest," Lupin answers dryly. "It's good to see you, Prongs."

"You too, Moony. Wish it were under better circumstances. I guess this is the afterlife."

"One option. I thought you weren't supposed to bring people here," Lupin adds to Lily.

"Yeah, didn't that Mercer bloke say something about breaking the rules?" James asks her.

Lily nods, moving over to a nearby chair to sit down. Lupin does likewise, sitting on a sofa with Sirius flopping down beside him, and James takes a second chair. Snape remains standing, folding his arms over his chest.

"This is Elsewhere," Lily explains to James and Snape. "It's a soul plane, an alternate earth for souls, that Harry created after Draco Malfoy died. It's not an officially recognised place for the dead, like heaven, hell, and purgatory, but it's a place they can exist."

"Harry created this?" James repeats incredulously.

"Yes, but he doesn't realise that. He spent most of his prison sentence projecting his soul here. He created extra people, including duplicates of you two, and an entirely new history where he had a happy life and no one died. He pulled in the souls of Sirius, Remus, and Draco, as well as me, and refused to believe it wasn't real for years."

"But it is real," James points out.

"Harry doesn't know that. He thinks everything that happened during those years was a figment of his imagination. He has no idea his power extends to this degree and the higher powers would prefer it remains that way."

James glances at Snape, whose gaze is fixed on Lily.

"You knew he wasn't dead," Snape says. "Before today."

Lily nods.

"That was really him then?" James asks. "Not something pretending? Then it was really him last year as well?"

Snape's eyes snap to him. "What do you mean last year?"

James cringes, forgetting that Snape didn't know.

"Hang on a minute," Sirius says. "What happened with Harry today?"

When Snape doesn't answer, James does. "He killed us. Well, he killed Severus, and the Animancupium killed me."

Sirius gets to his feet, suspicious gaze on Snape. "Harry doesn't just kill people without a reason. What did you do?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Black."

"Then you did do something. Why am I not surprised?" Sirius sneers. "Severus Snape failing his child yet again."

Snape's face twists angrily and for a moment it looks like he's going to throw himself at Sirius and physically assault him, but although his hands clench on his arms, he stays in place, turning his attention to James again.

"What did you mean by that comment about last year? How long have you known that Harry was alive?"

"I didn't _know_ exactly," James says evasively.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, Snivellus, and you can leave James alone. What did you do to Harry?"

"I did nothing to Harry," Snape snaps. "He killed me because he was possessed by a demon."

Sirius and Remus groan. "I thought you said he wasn't any longer," Remus asks of Lily.

"I didn't think he was," she says defensively. "I told you I couldn't find him and I only had demon rumours to say he wasn't possessed and that he was killing demons. But it's possible a demon found and possessed him again."

"Again?" Snape repeats demandingly.

"Harry was possessed in autumn two thousand eleven," Lily tells him. "That's when I found out about it anyway, but there's no telling how long he was possessed before that. I know he still was by May of last year, but I heard rumours the demon was exorcised sometime that summer. I couldn't find him to confirm for myself."

"He could have been possessed for years before then," James says. "Possibly since his supposed death."

"I don't think so," Lily counters. "The demon in him was killing people violently and not disguising what he was doing. Everyone was talking about it. If he'd been possessed that much earlier than two thousand eleven, I'd have heard something. I've been listening closely for anything about him since his supposed death."

"You knew he wasn't dead in oh-five then?" Snape asks.

"Of course, I knew. I'm a reaper, Severus. I can always tell the dead from the living, and if Harry hadn't split his soul I'd have been able to find him as well. That body in his coffin isn't him, though whatever it is is definitely dead, but I didn't know where Harry was."

"Lucius," Snape snarls. "I knew it. I knew that bastard did something. And you—" He whirls on James. "How long have you known?"

"I told you, I didn't know exactly, but the demon that assaulted Draco last year... it looked like Harry. I guess it was him."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you were better not knowing."

"Not knowing my son was alive and possessed?"

"Yes!" James snaps at him. "You were better without Harry, or have you forgotten what his 'death' did to you? It almost destroyed you and it almost ruined your relationship with Hermione _and_ Maddy. You moved on, Severus, and you were finally fucking happy. I wasn't going to ruin that by giving you the barest hint that Harry was _maybe_ alive and if he was, then definitely possessed and attacking family!"

"That wasn't your call to make!"

"The hell it wasn't," James snarls. "You may be my Master, Severus, but we agreed years ago that I had the right to do whatever I thought necessary to secure both our lives. You would have destroyed _everything_ if you thought Harry was alive. You'd have gone chasing after him, trying to find out if he was really alive. Draco said he was going to search for him and exorcise the demon. I agreed that if he did that then Harry could decide whether to reveal himself to you and tell us what happened in oh-five, but until then I was well within my rights to keep it to myself. I know you, Severus. I know what you would have done and I was not going to let you ruin both our lives."

"Alright that's enough, you two," Lily steps in.

"Stay out of it, Hermione," Snape snaps.

Silence falls over the room. Snape sighs. "I apologise. Lily."

She waves the apology off. "It says something for Hermione that you thought I was her. She's been a good influence on you, from what I've seen."

"Bloody pervert, if you ask me," Sirius mutters.

"Shut up, Sirius."

Sirius blinks at James. "What?"

"I said shut up," James repeats clearly. "Severus isn't a pervert. He's had enough crap from people about his relationship without you joining in."

"Are you defending him?"

"Yes."

Sirius gapes at him, then his expression darkens. "Sorry if I don't take you at your word, Prongs, but he's your Master and he didn't treat you much better than Malfoy did, so you're not what anyone can call reliable."

"Don't you dare—" Snape begins, only to get cut off by James punching Sirius soundly on the nose.

"James!"

"You got something to say as well, Remus?" James says to his old friend. "Because I can throw another one."

"What the hell is your problem, Prongs?" Sirius growls, wiping at his bloody nose.

"My problem is you acting like you know anything about Severus and our relationship when you don't know shit, Sirius."

"Really? So he didn't assault you so badly once that you nearly died?"

"That was ten years ago and how do you even know about that?"

Sirius stubbornly refuses to answer, so Remus speaks. "Harry. When he was here, reality sort of... seeped through sometimes."

"And it doesn't matter how long ago it was," Sirius adds. "He still did it, Prongs."

"He never locked me a cellar though, so don't compare him to Lucius. And there were extenuating circumstances when that happened."

"Oh, you mean the drinking?" Sirius asks, sneering at Snape as an ugly flush suffuses his cheeks. "Yeah, we know about that too. You're filthy raging drunk, Snivellus, and now you're a werewolf too."

" _Was_ a drunk," Snape corrects coldly, trying to ignore the heat in his face. "Not that any of this has anything to do with you, Black."

"You've turned my friend against me."

"I haven't turned against you, Padfoot," James counters, folding his arms over his chest. "But you should know better than most that I'll stand up for my friends."

"Friends? Snivellus—"

"Don't call him that."

"He's not your friend!"

"He is!" James yells. "Just because he's my Master as well doesn't mean he's not my friend, Padfoot. I get that you're just trying to look out for me, but you've been dead for fifteen years. You don't know me better than I know myself, and believe it or not I have actually been smart enough to be cautious about my Bond. I've lived with it for over half my life now. Severus is my friend. Deal with it."

Sirius looks between James and Snape, looking for a moment like he might hit them both, then he turns on his heel and stalks into the throne room, slamming the doors shut behind him.

Snape turns on Lily. "Your ex mentioned some place called purgatory. I assume that's where I'm supposed to be rather than this... Elsewhere?"

Lily nods slowly.

"Then take me there."

"Severus, you can't be serious," James objects.

"I'm perfectly serious. I'd rather spend my afterlife in hell than in a place inhabited by that idiot, and it's where I expected to be; purgatory is a step up."

"Not really," Lupin replies calmly. "Purgatory is home to monsters far older and far more evil than demons. It's hell for everything inhuman and you will spend your entire afterlife fighting. Half the creatures there want nothing more than to fight and when you've been there a while, it's mostly what you want too. Purgatory is pure. It's animal. You will transform there—often. The moon doesn't affect us in the afterlife but other things do and in purgatory, when you fight, you change."

"And here?" Snape asks despite himself.

"I haven't transformed since Harry left. Sirius, James, and I may be your only company here, but you've got the equivalent of the entire world to put between us. Is your hatred of us from when we were teenagers so great that you'd honestly rather spend eternity suffering uncontrollable transformations, and fighting creatures that make even the wolf want to run off with its tail between its legs?"

* * *

 

_26th June 2013_

_Harry,_

_I'm sending this letter because you need to know. I would prefer to tell you in person and I thought about sending a Patronus message asking you to come to me, but I wasn't sure you would so it will have to be in a letter. I hope it reaches you._

_Your father died yesterday. He was murdered. His blood was turned to liquid silver, which makes the Aurors think it was a hate crime, but there are no suspects yet._

_James is dead too. Do you remember that they had an Animancupium bond? It caused James to die when Severus did. He was at Hogwarts at the time and managed to get himself isolated before it happened, so thankfully no one else was hurt, as the effects of the Bond breaking causes a violent death that can harm others nearby._

_I'm sorry, Harry. I will send another letter when the funerals have been arranged, should you wish to attend._

_I hope you're well._

_Draco._

Harry puts the letter aside, pressing the balls of his hands to his eyes, forcing back the tears threatening him. He's still in Gabriel's flat, though alone now. The letter comes in the morning, breaking any hope he has of convincing himself that what happened was a dream. His father is dead and he's the cause of it.

He isn't sure what to do. Part of him wants to go to Draco and confess, is even willing to let himself be arrested and imprisoned, though Merlin only knows the kind of uproar his existence would promote. Another part of him strongly objects to the idea. James was Draco's step-father; if he went and confessed to the murder, Draco would hate him.

Justifiably so, Harry reminds himself. Draco seems to have dealt well enough with the trouble Harry caused last summer to not hate him, judging by the polite tone of the letter, but Harry doesn't doubt for a second that if he confesses to killing Snape and James, Draco will absolutely loathe him. He knows it's selfish of him to want to avoid confessing solely for that reason, but he can't help it. He doesn't want Draco to hate him.

He avoids making a decision about it by taking revenge. After a sleepless night and remembering everything he's done while possessed, he decides that he won't let demons control him ever again. He spends a little while planning, but once he's come up with an idea, he heads out immediately to enact it.

* * *

Money is only an issue for Harry when he first starts hunting, and even then he only needs it for food, as he conjures his clothes, but he's in Paris one day when he comes up with the idea of conjuring things to sell. He does worry a bit about the possibility of the things he makes disappearing after a while, but not enough to make him stop setting up on the street in various cities and selling glass ornaments. He's surprised by how much he's able to earn through it, though some days are better than others and some cities are better than others.

It's gives him enough money that he's got some set aside and he takes it now to an electronics store in London—his Translation Charm is great, but sometimes he prefers just to deal in straight English—and asks for a tape recorder only to get told by a store clerk that he needs to leave the nineties and that Dictaphones are the modern equivalent. He buys one, gets the store clerk to show him how to use it, and buys the largest pair of speakers he can get that runs on batteries.

He takes both to a warehouse in Faro, in Portugal, where he killed a pair of vetalas a week ago, managing to save three people the vetalas secreted away to feed on. He conjures a table and sets the Dictaphone and speakers on it then records himself saying the exorcism, plays it back to make sure it's right, then plugs it into the speakers and plays it again, glad to find that despite the small size the speakers manage to project the noise to the far corners of the warehouse. That done, he etches three hundred devil's traps into the floor, filling it side to side and end to end, sits on the table beside the speakers, and makes a Wish.

Three hundred people appear in the warehouse, all of them crying out or shouting in surprise and despair when they find themselves stuck in the devil's traps, and Harry casts a Silencing Spell on them all and hits the play button on the Dictaphone. Angry, scared, and silent objections fill the space, but none of them can do anything and as the recording comes to an end, three hundred people scream and release a torrent of black smoke from their mouths. The newly unpossessed people collapse, and Harry Wishes them back to where they came from.

Then he does it all over again. He knows he might be causing a lot of people to die without the demons to keep their bodies going, and he knows the news is going to be filled with stories of people disappearing and reappearing, but he's mostly certain that the good of what he's doing outweighs the bad.

* * *

Three thousand people later, his phone rings. He waits for the current recording to finish and returns the people before he answers it. He expects it to be Gabriel—Harry's been Wishing demons from all over the world and wouldn't be surprised by Gabriel finding out—but the phone's small screen shows only '666' and it's a cockney accent that he hears down the line.

"Alright, you little prick, I think we need to discuss a deal."

"How did you get this number?"

"I'm the King of Hell, you think I can't find a bloody phone number?"

"I don't know. I'm still uneducated as far as Muggle technology goes. What kind of deal are you hoping for?"

"Stop kidnapping and exorcising my demons, and I'll leave your family alone."

"You expect me to believe that? Twice I've been possessed and the demon has gone after people I love and this time you actually ordered it yourself, not to mention the demons you put in my sister's tutor, and Draco's boyfriend, and the people living near our families. You've been keeping watch on them since before you even had me possessed the first time and now you think I'll believe you when you say you'll leave them alone?"

"I'm not an idiot, Harry," Crowley replies snappishly. "I had them watched because I make a point of knowing the weak spots of my enemies. I realise now that they're not your weak spots; they're the fuel to your fire. I'll leave them alone—Draco, the Potters, the Granger-Snapes—as long as you stop exorcising my demons."

"I don't think I should be making another deal with you. I learnt my lesson about that."

"You got out of it before, didn't you? Besides, this isn't a deal for your soul, Harry. It's a simple hostage exchange. My demons for your family. You want the deal, meet me at seven-five-eight Holland Grove, Westacre, Illinois, USA, in ten minutes. If not, I'll slaughter everyone you've ever spoken to."

* * *

758 Holland Grove, Westacre, is a field with an abandoned farm house. No one's there when Harry appears and he waits patiently on the road by the house for Crowley, who arrives two minutes later. Harry turns and makes a Wish the moment he feels the demon's presence and Crowley curses him as the ground underneath him transfigures from gravel to concrete, with a perfect devil's trap etched into it.

"This is not how I do deals," Crowley snaps.

"It is how you're doing this deal with me," Harry replies. "You went after my family. You killed my dad, and through him killed James, and you threatened my siblings, Draco, and Draco's family. So this is what's going to happen."

He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and levitates it over to Crowley. "This is the contract. It states, quite simply, that you and every other demon to ever exist is not to possess, or hurt directly or indirectly, or kill directly or indirectly, me—that is, Harry Evans—or Madeleine Granger-Snape, Cailean Granger-Snape, Sabrina Granger-Snape, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Potter née Black, Nero Potter, Vega Potter, or the spouses or future children, genetic or adopted, of any of the aforementioned. In return, I will exorcise no more than one demon per calendar month."

"That's not fair, Harry. Yours are all off limits; mine should be too."

Harry's expression darkens. "I've sent three thousand demons back to hell already just today. They're all over the globe, causing pain and misery and suffering. So this deal is more than fair. I'm a hunter now which means I hunt demons and monsters. One a month, Crowley. Keep arguing and it'll be two." He steps forwards, mismatched eyes glaring at Crowley. "I will not let the people I love get hurt. This isn't a negotiation. Either you sign that contract or the next demon I exorcise will be you."

"You drive a hard bargain, Harry," Crowley says, anger evident in his voice even as he takes a pen from his pocket. "When you die for good and come downstairs, there's a position waiting for you in sales."

Harry says nothing, waiting for him to sign it then levitating it back to himself, satisfied to see Crowley's name written along the signature line. He signs his own name, duplicates the contract, pockets the original and hands the duplicate to Crowley.

"So glad to do business with you again. Now if you don't mind..." Crowley remarks, glancing pointedly at the devil's trap.

"I Wish," Harry said, looking at the concrete under the demon, "that the gates of hell will close and lock."

Crowley chuckles. "I'm sure a lot of people wish..." He trails off with a frown that quickly turns to a look of horror. "You little bastard!"

Harry smiles humourlessly and Disapparates, leaving Crowley still standing in the devil's trap.

* * *

Harry is curled up with Kiwi in an armchair at Gabriel's flat, watching an Italian soap he can't understand a word of because he's not put a Translation Charm on, when he feels two things appear in the room. He constantly feels the world around him with magic, making it next to impossible for anyone to sneak up on him... unless, of course, he's asleep. He plans to figure out a way to do it while he's sleeping as well, so he can't have a repeat of Crowley.

But one of the things that appears in the room with him is nothing like he's ever felt before. One he instantly recognises as a reaper; he's come across them through his hunting, feeling them but never seeing them as they come to collect the souls of humans that have died from demon possession or monsters. To his magic they feel cold and stiff, almost like ice cubes, which makes them a direct contrast to human souls, which feel searing hot.

The thing with the reaper, though, is like a void. He doesn't feel it so much as its lack of existence, as if a humanoid black hole has popped into the living room. It's an utterly terrifying feeling and that fear doesn't decrease when he leaps to his feet, spins around and drops Kiwi, and lays eyes on a man he hoped to not see for a good long time.

"Hello, Harry," Death greets.

"I-I-I," he stutters, then closes his mouth, swallows dryly, and manages to croak out, "Hello, sir." His gaze flicks to the woman stood beside him and he greets her just as nervously, "Mum."

Death moves around the arm chair and sits in it, resting his cane against the arm. There's a paper bag with a burger and chips in it beside the chair, brought for Harry by Gabriel and which he hasn't touched. Death gestures.

"May I?"

Harry nods jerkily, baffled that Death would want to eat cheap, greasy junk food but not about to deny him anything. Lily approaches Harry, who backs up, but forgets about the TV and ends up knocking it over. He turns, grabbing it hurriedly and setting it back in place and switching it off, then looks back to Lily, who bends to pick up Kiwi then looks at him with a sad smile.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hi." He clears his throat, glancing between them, then asks, "Am I dead?"

"No, sweetheart."

"But... I don't—I don't understand. W-why are you here then? How can I see you? Only the dead can see reapers. Or possessed people," he adds, grabbing his sleeve and jerking it up to look down at the tattoo on his forearm, fingering it to reassure himself it's still there. "I'm not—I'm not possessed. Am I?"

"No, darling, of course you're not."

Death puts aside the bag of chips and wipes his fingers on a napkin, looking over at Harry. "I am Death. I can make myself and my reapers visible if I wish."

"Right. Yeah. Um... did—did you want something? Sir."

"Yes, actually. Once again you have been meddling with things that ought not to be meddled with, Harry."

Harry glances between him and Lily. "I don't understand."

"You closed the gates of hell. Remarkable though the feat was, you shouldn't have done it."

"Why not?" Harry asks, before realising it's probably rude and insolent to question Death, but he can't take the words back.

"You have closed them to everyone, Harry. The demons cannot leave, as was no doubt your intention, but neither can the demons currently on earth enter even when exorcised, nor can my reapers escort the newly dead in and you have trapped the few that were there delivering souls."

"Oh. I-I didn't know. I'm sorry." There's a pause, then he adds, "I'll, um... open it again."

"You do that."

Harry nods, but even with Death in front of him he still hesitates a moment before Wishing the gates open again.

"Thank you," Death says, surprising Harry, but his next warning is more expected. "Your power does not give you free reign to mess with the natural order, Harry. Exercise it freely among the living world, but do not interfere with my realm."

Harry nods quickly. "Yes, sir. I won't."

"Good." Death gets to his feet, taking up his cane again and moving towards the door. He pauses just in front of it to look back at Lily. "You have an hour, Ms Evans."

"Thank you, sir."

He doesn't respond, just opens the door and walks out. When the door clicks shut behind him, Harry looks back at Lily.

"Ms Evans?"

She sets Kiwi in the vacated armchair. "I don't know if you're aware, but James remarried. I thought I should retake my maiden name seeing as I'm not strictly Mrs Potter anymore. Narcissa has that title."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't mind," she tells him. "I'm glad he's happy. Are you going to give your mum a hug or try and knock that TV over again?"

He glances down at it and steps away, but doesn't approach her.

"You know what I've done." It's not a question. She sighs, but nods.

"I know you were possessed and killed Severus."

"I didn't want to. I tried to stop it, I couldn't—" He breaks off with a sob. Lily crosses the distance between them and wraps her arms around him, not letting go even when he tenses in her grip.

"It wasn't your fault, Harry," she tells him softly. "Anything you've done while possessed is not your fault."

"I should have stopped them," he whispers, closing his eyes as tears spill down his cheeks, and presses his face to her shoulder, wrapping his own arms around her. "I shouldn't have let them."

"Harry, don't." She pulls back, cupping his face in both hands and fixing him with a stern look when he reluctantly opens his eyes to look at her. "Fighting demonic possession is incredibly difficult. It's not your fault. You're not to blame for anything it did."

"I killed Dad. I killed James."

"You did not," she says firmly. "You were used."

"I—"

"Don't argue with your mother, Harry. Mums are always right."

Unwittingly, he lets out a huff of something approximating a laugh. "I don't think that's true."

"I'm a mum, I should know. Let's sit down and you can tell me everything that's happened since you disappeared from Azkaban in oh-five."

He sniffs and pulls away, looking at her. "You know about that?"

"I told you when you defeated Tom Riddle that I was looking out for you. You haven't made it easy, mind," she says dryly. "But I've done my best. Tell me everything, but make sure it takes less than an hour."

* * *

"That prejudiced bastard!"

Harry stares at his mother, watching her pace Gabriel's sitting room, hair flying wildly around her and face utterly furious.

"I'm half bloody tempted to storm Azkaban and reap that bastard right this second. How _dare_ he do that! I am going to make him pay when his time is up. I don't care who I have to owe a favour to to get him on my list, I'll swap anyone if it means I can reap him so I can teach that piece of shit a lesson."

"You can do that?"

Lily stops, turning to him. "What?"

"Swap the people you reap. Are you allowed to do that?"

"Oh. Yes, reapers do it sometimes if there's someone they want to reap, or don't want to. As long as the soul in question does get reaped, then it doesn't really matter who does it."

She sighs, runs her hands over her hair to flatten it, and sits back down beside him on the sofa. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you, sweetheart. With the burial or your possession."

He shrugs, looking away. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me. You're my son. It breaks my heart to see you suffer."

He looks back at her. "Why didn't you kill me when I was possessed?"

"You were no easier to find then than you were before. And you're my son, Harry. I'm afraid I don't have Severus' fortitude. Even if I could have found you, I don't think I'd have been able to do it. Reaping you when your death comes is one thing, but to kill you myself..."

"I'm sorry," he says hurriedly, seeing a sheen of tears in her eyes. "I didn't mean to... please don't cry, Mum."

She smiles sadly, wiping the tears away then taking his hands in hers. "I don't have much longer."

His face falls. "I don't want you to go."

"I'm not leaving for good, but I have a job to do. I'll still watch over you, sweetheart, even if you can't see me."

"I wish you could stay."

"I know."

She leans in, kissing his forehead, then pulls him into a hug. "You'll be alright, Harry."

He inhales shakily, clinging to her. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. You're stronger than you know, you've proved that just by surviving this long and doing what you have."

"I told you I killed myself before."

"I know," she says, her voice shaking slightly and making a spark of guilt spear through him. "But you didn't do it properly. You're still alive, Harry. You might struggle and there will always be days when it seems impossible, but you can handle everything the world throws at you. I believe in you."

She vanishes before he can reply. Harry falls forward, catches himself and scrambles back, staring at the spot where she is. He can still feel her with magic, but to his bodily senses there's nothing there.

"Mum?"

There's no answer. He feels her lean forwards and a ghostly kiss brushes against his forehead, and then she vanishes completely from his senses. His breath hitches and a sob forces it's way up his throat and he bends over, pressing his face into a cushion and giving himself over to the tears.

* * *

 

**Elsewhere**

Lily finds Snape in Australia, sitting atop Ayres Rock, alone. Harry's timing to leave Elsewhere has been coincidentally perfect as this area of Australia is caught in perpetual evening, the sun half over the horizon and painting the sky in a beautiful array of colours.

"Couldn't wait to put as much distance between you and Sirius as possible then?"

"I wanted to grieve and Black's jealously that James managed to make a friend without him grew tiresome surprisingly quickly. Have you been fired?"

"No. Warned against doing it again, but not fired."

"Then why are you here?" he asks, taking his eyes from the sunset to look up at her, expression inquiring as she sits down beside him, crossing her legs and looking over the view in front of them.

"Death let me be visible for an hour and speak with Harry."

Snape isn't able to keep the shock from his face at that. "You spoke to him? Then you know what happened to him? Everything?"

She nods. "I only had an hour but he told me what's happened since he left Azkaban."

"And?" Snape demands. "What happened in oh-five? Was it Lucius?"

"In essence. Harry did fake his death, Severus, intentionally. He did it the same way he did it to you and he conspired to have Lucius revive him after his funeral. Only he didn't. Lucius moved Harry from his coffin, just in case you tried to do exactly what you did, and Harry spent around six years in the ground until a demon possessed him."

"That shit-licking son of a bitch! I knew that fucking bastard had done something! I knew it! Take me back to earth; I want to spend the next three years haunting him until he's begging for the day his ten years run out."

"Even if I were allowed to take you back to earth, you couldn't haunt him, Severus. Azkaban is protected against ghosts. But I can promise you that when his time comes, I'm going to make him regret leaving my son in the ground."

Her cold assurance calms some of Snape's ire and he frowns at her, considering her words. "How did Harry even survive that? I was under for a few days, but six years?"

She shrugs. "He's not entirely sure himself. The only theory is that he put himself into an extreme coma and used his magic to keep himself alive, even to the point of providing air, hydration, and nutrition and it kept going as long as necessary."

"Until he was possessed, you mean."

She nods, expression sad. "Yes. He was for a year, he told me, then an angel smote the demon, repaired Harry's body, and put him back in it. He's spent a year struggling to come to terms with everything he did while possessed and hunting demons in the process, until a couple of days ago when he was possessed again."

"And killed me," Snape says, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Against his will," Lily says pointedly. "The demon killed you, Severus. Not Harry. He's incredibly distraught over it, blaming himself. Your death is hitting him as hard as his hit you."

He glances at her, lips tightening. "Did he tell you why he faked his death?"

"Yes," she admits. "He did."

"And?"

"He did it for you."

He frowns. " _For_ me?"

"He thought you—and Hermione and Maddy—would be better off without him, that he was only a burden and a worry, and that you were better suited to raise Maddy well without his presence in your lives. Severus, don't."

He ignores her, getting to his feet and turning away, kicking a loose stone with enough force to send it careening over the edge of the rock. "Lucius was right, then. It was my—"

"Don't!" she snaps, rising to her feet as well. "For Death's sake, Severus, don't let Lucius bloody Malfoy of all people make you hate yourself any more. Harry didn't do what he did _because_ of you, he did it _for_ you. It was misguided and caused more pain than he realises, but it was his own decision and you are not to blame for it."

Snape shakes his head angrily. "If I'd been a better father..."

"Stop it, Sev." She steps around in front of him, glaring at him with her fists on her hips. "That was long time ago and everyone else has forgiven you for it. Forgive yourself."

"I can't, Lily," he says quietly. "I failed him. My son. _Our_ son. The child you died for and I abandoned him."

"You killed him," she says just as quietly and lifts a hand to his face when he turns his head away, gently pushing it back to look at her. "I could never have done that, Severus. Dying for him was easy, but to actually kill him... I couldn't have done it, not like you did. I told Harry that day that I forgave you and it's true."

His breath hitches slightly. "He told me. I didn't know... I thought it might have been a near-death experience, just a hallucination."

"It wasn't, but if you need to hear it straight from me: I forgive you, Severus, for not being the father you should have been to Harry."

His throat is too tight to speak, but she understands, gracing him with a small smile before taking her hand from his face and stepping back. "I have to return to work."

He nods and she turns away, but he manages to find his voice before she leaves and calls her name, prompting her to look back over her shoulder.

"I know it doesn't count for much, but I am sorry for the way I treated you as a teenager," he says, surprising her. "I was clingy, obsessive, jealous, and a horrible human being. I hope I can prove to you that I've changed."

She smiles at him, turning fully to face him. "It does count," she tells him honestly. "That's what you never understood when we were teenagers—apologies don't count without actions to back them up, but I know you've changed, Severus. I used to use my days off to visit Harry, but when he disappeared I watched over his siblings for him instead. I've watched Maddy and Cailean grow and I've seen you with Hermione and with James. You're far from perfect and I know you've had a lot of rough patches along the way—you have no idea how close to death James was in two thousand and two—but I know you're a much better person than you used to be. So I accept your apology and maybe we can be friends again."

"I would like that."

* * *

 

James and Snape's funerals are on the same day, James' in the morning and Snape's that afternoon. James is buried in a London wizarding graveyard, his grave topped by a statue of an angel with chains at its feet. Snape is buried in the grave he was given when Harry faked his death during Voldemort's reign, though his gravestone is altered to display the correct date of death and to add the phrase: _Beloved Father and Partner._

Draco attends with the vague hope of seeing Harry. Throughout both services he keeps his gaze scanning the area, searching for any sign of him, critically eying every depressed patch of grass to figure out if it's the result of an invisible person, but he finds no sign of him until the end of Snape's. He takes one last look around the graveyard before he's about to leave and notices a small dark fox peering out from under a bush—a fox with one green eye and one blue. It pulls out of sight when he stares at it, which is all the confirmation Draco really needs. He looks away, takes Vega's hand and makes sure his mother has Nero, then Apparates to Grimmauld Place. He feels bad for leaving Narcissa and his siblings so soon, especially on today of all days, but doesn't know when he might again have this chance, so he makes an excuse about needing half an hour to himself and leaves again.

When he gets back to the graveyard, he almost leaves again. It looks empty at a quick glance and he gets the feeling he should leave, but he hesitates and then notices the tingle on his skin. He frowns, concentrates, and notices it stronger—the tell-tale sign of a Perception Filter Charm. Ignoring the desire to leave, he opens the gate and enters.

Harry appears knelt in front of Snape's grave. He looks around as Draco enters and scrambles to his feet, looking ready to flee.

"Harry, wait!"

He does, staying in place as Draco quickly crosses the graveyard, eventually coming to stop just in front of him. Only then does he realise he has no idea what to say. Harry turns away, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looking down at the grave. Draco looks down at it himself, reading the inscription on the grey stone. _Beloved Father..._ He wonders what Harry thinks of that. He may have eventually come to accept Snape as his father, but beloved? Draco doubts the idea of loving Snape ever even occurred to Harry. There was too much negative history and difficulties between them.

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"It's my fault."

Draco steps forward to stand right beside him. Looking at him, Draco realises his eyes aren't the only things that have changed about him since they last met—and he wonders what happened this time to make Harry need another false eye when he had two perfectly working ones a year ago. That aside, he's put on weight since Draco saw him; he looks like he not only eats regularly but exercises often as well. Physically, Draco would even have to say he's never seen Harry looking better, even with dark shadows under his eyes that suggest sleep has evaded him for some time. Even before his imprisonment in the Malfoy Manor cellar, Harry always bordered on unhealthily skinny, especially in their sixth year.

"I did it," Harry says. "I got possessed, again, and I killed him."

Draco has no idea what to say to that. Never once has he considered the possibility that Harry killed Snape—and James by extension.

"I'm sorry, Draco."

"There's a symbol," Draco says because he's not sure what else to say. "It prevents possession. You can wear it as a charm, or get it tattooed."

He fumbles his robes undone, tugs his shirt from his trousers and pushes down his waistband enough to show the pentagram inside a circle of flames that's inked onto his hip. Harry stares at it then closes his eyes, expression pained, and pushes up his left sleeve. The glamour he must be wearing falls away to reveal not only the scars Draco knows should be there, but also an identical tattoo on his forearm.

"They cut it off. My arm."

"They—what? Who?"

"Crowley did. Gabriel—my angel friend—he reattached it."

Draco nods, because he's not sure what else to do. "Right. Angel. I guess it's good to have friends in high places."

There must be more bitterness in his voice than he realises because Harry jerks his sleeve down, reapplies his glamour, and turns his head away. "I'm sorry. I should go."

He takes two steps and Draco grabs his wrist, yanking him back around.

"You're going to walk off on me again?"

"You can't expect me to stay?" Harry asks him incredulously, but doesn't pull away. "After what I did—after _everything_ I've done... Draco, I can't stay. I've already got Dad and James killed. I bring nothing but death. I... I'm a curse to everyone."

"That's bullshit," Draco spits, eliciting a startled look from Harry. "You can't honestly believe... sweet Merlin," he breathes. "You do."

"It's true," Harry mutters. "Ever since I was born. I just bring bad luck."

"How can you say that?"

"How can I not? My mum died because of me when I was just a baby, James got kidnapped, I was a burden on my aunt and uncle, I killed that girl at Hogwarts—I can't even remember her name—in my first year because I was stupid enough to trust a talking diary, I got Remus killed, and Sirius, and you. I killed and tortured people for Voldemort, I killed people in Azkaban without even meaning to, and then I was buried for six years and still caused demons to possess people close to you and our families, which got you nearly killed—twice in a week!—and now I've got James and Dad killed." He breaks off, taking a deep shuddering breath and letting it out shakily, jerks his hand from Draco's grip and wraps his arms around himself. "I should have just killed myself properly."

Draco just stares at him throughout the speech, but on Harry's last word he grabs him by the front of his shirt, jerking him around to look at him, then grabs his face and forces his head up.

"What do you mean 'properly'? Did you try it before?"

"Twice," Harry admits. "I sort of succeeded the second time but—my Horcrux, I forgot—mmph!"

Draco kisses him. Hard at first, but Harry goes stiff and he softens it, strokes Harry's cheek soothingly with one hand and feels tears drip down his own face. Harry whimpers and Draco's about to pull away, but his hands grab at Draco's robes and his mouth opens slightly, prompting Draco to deepen the kiss and pulling him closer when he does.

They're both breathing hard when they do break apart. Harry stares at Draco like he's not sure he believes what's happening, and Draco tries to blink away the tears in his eyes only to feel them roll down his cheeks.

"I love you," Draco tells the other man.

"What?"

"I love you. Do you understand what that means? It means you don't get to die, because it was bad enough dealing with it once. I won't do it again."

"How can you love me after everything I've done? I'm a monster."

"You're a man who's dealt with impossible circumstances and been possessed beyond your control by monsters. But you're still Harry. _My_ Harry. I didn't need a reason to love you when I was fifteen and I sure as hell don't now."

"But I—"

"But nothing, Harry. I love you. Whatever you've done, whatever's been done to you—I love you."

Harry stares at him like he's trying to read the truth of it on Draco's face, and then closes eyes. "I still love you too," he says softly. "I never stopped."

The words should make Draco's heart swell. Instead, it sinks. "You're leaving anyway, aren't you?"

Harry tries to pull away. Draco grabs his shoulders, holding him in place. "Look at me, Harry!"

He does so with obvious reluctance. "I can't stay," he says apologetically. "Draco, I can't—I'm messed up. My head—everything's just... I can't show up now and act like everything would be fine. I can't face Hermione and my siblings and your mother and brother and sister. Even if I hadn't killed Dad and James, I'm just not..."

Draco's hands slip from his shoulders. Harry steps away, looking down so he doesn't have to see the pity and sadness on Draco's face.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and Disapparates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is only an interlude, not a full chapter, and as such I'll be post it tomorrow, and still post the actual Chapter 6 on Tuesday.


	6. Interlude

**21st December 2013**

Snape finds James in Grimmauld Place. The house is nothing like it is in reality now, but instead covered in the dust and filth that was so predominant when the Order of the Phoenix used it in 1996. James is in the drawing room, slouched in a moth eaten chair, robe discarded to leave him dressed in only his trousers and showing all his many scars, which still make Snape wince, the spider-webbing of white flesh over his torso making guilt spark through him. But more eye catching are the fresh wounds, carefully cut gashes over his abdomen that leave blood dripping down his skin to the waistband of his trousers. A small knife with dried blood on it lies discarded on the floor.

James glances at Snape when he enters then looks away again, a guilty flush rising in his cheeks.

"I wanted to see if I could," he admits as Snape goes over, drawing his wand and using _Scourgify_ on a chair to clean the worst of the dust from it before he sits. "Whether it felt the same."

"I drank every bottle of vodka I could find in Diagon Alley," Snape replies, prompting James to look at him in surprise, but Snape's gaze is on his knees. "Apparently the dead can't get drunk."

James stares at him for a long minute before smiling wryly. "We're pathetic."

"We're dead. I think we're entitled."

"Can you imagine what Cissy and Hermione think of us?"

"I prefer not to," Snape says quietly and James' smile fades.

"Yeah, me neither."

They fall into silence, both thinking about things they no longer have. The Bond between them may be gone now, but after fifteen years with it they don't need the magic to create a connection between them, or maybe there's just some lingering effect. Either way, they both take some minor comfort just from the other's presence and they don't move or speak until there's a crack of Apparition in the hallway and Sirius' voice calls out, "Prongs! You moping here again? Me and—"

He breaks off, having just entered the drawing room with Lupin close behind and seen the wounds and blood on his friend's stomach.

"Sirius—" James starts, but Sirius' face twists angrily. He jerks away from Lupin's reaching hand, draws his wand, and—

—it leaps from his hand, Snape moving faster to get to his feet with wand drawn, silently disarming Sirius before he can fire off a curse. He snatches the wand from the air, turns, shoves both wands into James' hands, ignoring the confused look on the other man's face, and turns back to Sirius just in time to get punched in the face.

"Sirius!" James and Remus both cry, but Snape smiles grimly through the blood pouring from his nose and punches him back.

* * *

Lily arrives to finds Snape and Sirius on the floor, doing their level best to beat the crap out of each other, while Remus sits in a chair with his face in his hand and James watches from another chair, dried blood caking his stomach and his lip split. She can only gape at them, taking in the scenario, but when James notices her and shoots her a despairing look, she scowls, clicks her fingers, and the fighters shout in unified horror as an angrily hissing snake appears between them. It disappears the moment they break apart and Snape and Sirius stare at where it'd been, both breathing hard and sporting bruises, bloody noses, and split lips. Lupin looks up.

"What in Death's name is going on here?" Lily demands. Snape drops his gaze, lifting a hand to wipe at his mouth, but Sirius points a finger at James.

"Look at what that bastard did!"

James glowers at Sirius. "Actually, you elbowed me AND," he says angrily when Sirius opens his mouth to clarify, "I cut myself, which you'd know if you took two fucking seconds to listen to me instead of instantly leaping on Severus."

"What the fuck are you talking about? Why would you cut yourself?"

"Because it's what I do. I get stressed, or angry, or... or just anything, and I hurt myself."

"That doesn't make sense."

James laughs humourlessly. "Trust me, I know."

Sirius still looks confused. Lupin catches Lily's eyes.

"They were both spoiling for a fight," he says.

"I wasn't—" Sirius starts, but snaps his mouth shut when Lupin glowers at him, then winces as the action sends pain shock waving through his head.

"I certainly was," Snape admits, getting to his feet with a grimace. "But I'm glad you're here, Lily. I have a request to make."

"I can't heal you."

He smiles, though it comes out as more of a grimace. "I wouldn't expect it even if I wanted it." He goes over to where his wand sits on a table with Sirius', picks it up and taps it to his face, clearing the blood away then fixing his broken nose before pocketing it and turning to Lily.

"I want you to take me to purgatory," he requests calmly.

"What?!" James yelps, leaping to his feet then staggering slightly, hand going to his abdomen. He waves off Lupin's concern and fixes Snape with hard look. "You can't be serious."

"I'm perfectly serious. I want to go to purgatory."

Lily's eyes are hard. "I can't bring you back. Once I take you there, that's it. There's no return."

"I don't want to."

"Severus, why?" James demands.

"Because this world is driving me _mad!_ " He almost yells the last word, face twisting. "There is nothing and no one but us four and I can't stand it. I can't even get drunk. I want to leave, and I will suffer the wolf and whatever monsters are in purgatory if it means getting out of this godforsaken pit of emptiness."

Everyone stares at him. Snape breathes hard, fists clenched at his sides and gaze fixed on Lily. She's the first to speak.

"If you're sure, Severus."

"I am."

She nods and he crosses the room, but James steps after him, grabbing his sleeve. Snape looks around to tell him off, but James' eyes are on Lily and his expression is set. "I'm going with him."

Lupin bursts out of his chair like someone's set his arse on fire. "No!"

James doesn't even look around.

Lily shakes her head. "James, you're human. I can't take you there."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both!" she snaps.

"James, it's not safe!" Lupin growls. "You're human; Severus himself would attack you when he changes."

James looks over his shoulder at him. "Not if I change to Prongs."

"You don't know that you can there! Things don't work the same."

James shrugs. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

Snape jerks out of his grip. "You will not! I order you to remain here!"

James smiles at him. "We're not Bound anymore, Severus. Your word isn't law. Lily, if you take him, you take me."

"No!" Snape snarls. "Lily—"

"Me too."

Everyone looks down at Sirius, still on the floor.

"Sirius..." Lupin manages weakly. Sirius shoots him an apologetic look.

"I can't believe I'm saying it, but..." He sighs then says with a grimace, "I agree with Snape. This world got boring real quick when Harry left and Remus is right—I was spoiling for a fight. That punch up made me feel things I haven't in a long time."

Lupin drops back into his chair and buries his face in both hands. Sirius crawls over, kneeling before the man and resting both hands on Lupin's thighs.

"Ask me to stay and I will," he promises quietly. "I swear to you, Remus, I won't leave if you ask me to stay."

Lupin's reply is little more than a whisper. "But you want to leave."

"I want to leave Elsewhere. Not you."

Slowly, Lupin lifts his head. He looks at Sirius for a full thirty seconds, saying nothing, then flicks his gaze to James, briefly to Snape then back to James, who nods. He looks to Snape again, who returns his gaze with an unreadable stare, then Lupin looks back at Sirius. He leans forward, capturing the man's lips in a kiss that Sirius leans into but which Lupin keeps chaste. They break apart and Lupin gestures for Sirius to move and both men rise to their feet, moving to stand beside Snape and James.

"Take us to purgatory," Lupin says to Lily. She looks between the four men, taking in Snape's almost pleading gaze, James' determination, the cocky gleam in Sirius' eyes, and Lupin's resigned but staunch stance, and she sighs.

"You four are idiots. I hope you realise that."

James and Sirius exchange grins, but they look contrite when she adds, "I won't be able to visit you like I do here, and you're going to get me in trouble for taking humans to purgatory."

"I thought you couldn't," Snape reminds her, still hoping to leave the other three behind.

"I lied, but as always James is a stubborn prat."

"You love it."

She shakes her head but doesn't refute the claim, stalking forwards to stand in front of Snape. He holds out a hand, expecting her to take it so she can transport them all, but she grabs his face in both hands and kisses him firmly on the mouth. She breaks it before he realises what's going on and while he's still spluttering with shock, she takes a step sideways and does the same to James, who manages to keep his surprise contained to a single raised eyebrow. She kisses Lupin next, who merely frowns at her with confusion, then kisses Sirius, who pulls her against him, eliciting a startled noise as he spins her about, bends her over and deepens the kiss. Her arms wrap around his neck and she moans while the other three watch, gaping, until Sirius straightens them up and the kiss ends. Lily steps back, face flushed.

"Wow," she says a touch breathlessly. "Better than I imagined."

Snape and James are speechless, but their eyes snap to Sirius when he agrees cheerfully, "I'll say."

"Sirius!" James cries. Sirius grins sheepishly.

"What? C'mon, you all know Lils here was the hottest girl in our year—hell, look at her, she's still gorgeous. _Everyone_ wanted to snog her."

Lily blushes, pleased by the compliment. Lupin grabs Sirius by the front of his robes and an amusing look of panic briefly flashes across Sirius' face before the werewolf kisses him hard.

Snape finally finds his voice, letting out a muttered, "Oh good grief," when Sirius moans into Lupin's mouth, practically melting in his arms. Without once breaking the kiss, Lupin half drags, half shoves Sirius over to the door, only then pulling apart long enough to look over his shoulder at Lily and say, "Five minutes."

Sirius whimpers and Lupin amends, "Fifteen," then they both stagger through the door.

James turns on Lily. "Just how long have you imagined kissing Sirius?"

She shrugs nonchalantly. "He was the hottest boy in our year."

"No, he wasn't!"

Snape snorts then scowls when they both look at him. "Even the Slytherin girls said he was most attractive," he tells them. "Personally I think he looks better as a mutt."

Before either can reply, Sirius' voice comes through from the hall. "Oh, _fuck_ , yes!"

Snape's expression turns horrified, Lily sniggers, and James rolls his eyes, draws his wand and casts a Silencing Charm on the room.

"Take us now," Snape begs of Lily. "You can return for them. Better yet, just leave them."

She shakes her head, her amusement fading. "If I must indulge you, I'm doing you all in one trip."

"Then don't indulge them. I belong in purgatory. James doesn't."

"I'm coming, Sev."

"Why, James?" Lily asks for both of them. "Do you dislike it here as well?"

He shrugs. "It is kind of boring, but fourteen years in the Malfoy cellar made me able to deal with that. I just don't want to lose Severus."

"Why?" she insists. "You're not Bound to him anymore."

"I know, but..." He runs a hand through his hair and shrugs again. "He's still my Master."

Lily looks at Snape, who merely frowns at James, draws his wand, and points to a chair. "Sit."

James sits and Snape crouches by him, healing the scabbed over wounds on his abdomen. They don't speak for the next ten minutes. James puts his robe back on, Snape repairs a few tears in his clothes from the fight, and eventually Sirius and Lupin return, both flushed and satisfied. Snape scowls at them but they ignore him and Sirius retrieves his wand from the table, twirling it between his fingers and turning to Lily.

"So. Where's purgatory?"


	7. Chapter 6

**16th July 2014**

Harry knows that the woman playing a flute in a park in Hamburg, Germany isn't human, but he's not sure what she is, and whatever she is he has no inclination to kill her. She looks completely human, but to his magic senses, she feels smooth and fluid like water. The music she plays is beautiful and Harry can't see how something that plays music for anyone who passes by could be a threat. He even takes twenty-five Euros from his day's earnings of selling conjured glass ornaments and puts it in the creature's flute case and then finds a nearby bench to sit and listen for a while.

A while turns into several hours, by which time dark is falling, most of the other park goers have left, and the temperature has dropped, though Harry barely notices any of these things, so absorbed by the creature's music. He's disappointed to hear it stop and stays on his bench as the creature collects the money that's been given to her and packs up her instrument. She approaches Harry then, who has a vague thought that he should be wary of unfamiliar creatures that try to pass as human, but he makes no move to get up, defend himself, or attack the creature.

"Do you like my music?" she asks and the slight buzz around the words lets Harry know the words are spoken in German, changed to English for him by the Translation Charm he put on himself earlier. The buzz doesn't diminish the fact that the creature's voice is feminine and soft and as lovely to hear as her music.

"I do. It was very beautiful."

"Thank you. Music is one of the world's most beautiful creations, wouldn't you agree? It touches a man's very soul."

Harry does agree. He didn't listen to much music when he was younger, but since his resurrection he's discovered all kinds of music and he enjoys any chance he gets to discover and listen to the music of any country he visits.

"Maybe..." she says hesitantly, "you would like to get a drink with me? You can tell me your favourite music and perhaps I can introduce you to something new and interesting."

Harry, who neither drinks nor has accepted any of the occasional come on's he's received from people over the last couple of years, says yes without even thinking about it, and only when he's stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and fallen into step beside the creature does he mention that he doesn't drink alcohol.

"Oh, neither do I," she tells him as they follow the path around the small lake in the park. "It dehydrates me too much. Oh! I haven't asked your name."

"Harry."

"Harry," the creature repeats softly, her voice seeming to caress the word, and she puts a hand on Harry's arm to stop him. "You are very beautiful, Harry. I would like to kiss you."

Harry starts to object. Although the creature sounds lovely and he would like to get to know her better, he has no desire to kiss or be kissed by her, but she silences him with her mouth, and at that point all his objections seem to vanish like raindrops in the sea. All of Harry's attention drops to the mouth on his, small and soft and oddly chilly, but nice. His mind is so absorbed on the kiss that he barely notices she's pushing him back towards the lake. Water engulfs him, but all he can think about is the creature's mouth on his, her tongue pushing between his lips, her hands caressing his face as they sink further into the cold.

Then she stops kissing him and water fills his mouth and then his lungs when he gasps, and panic floods through him as he realises he's drowning. He thrashes but the creature's hands, which he absently notices have become long and thin and extremely strong, clench around his arms and drag them both down. Instinct kicks in somewhere beneath the panic and with a hastily worded Wish both of them are back on the shore of the lake. Harry feels grass and stone under him and coughs, hacking up the water that filled his lungs.

"Wizard!" the creature snarls, her voice no longer beautiful and endearing. He looks up just in time to see her lunging towards him, likely with the intention of knocking him back into the lake, but whatever subtle spell she wove over him has faded and the moment her hands latch onto him he Apparates.

They reappear in the middle of the Sahara desert. Harry gasps at the shock of dry heat then resumes coughing, still trying to get water out of his lungs, but the creature's reaction is far worse. She shrieks and leaps off him, staggering over sand and crying out, which is the whole reason he came here. He figures a creature of water wouldn't like the desert and he remembers her comment about dehydration and Wishes for all the water in her body to evaporate. Less than a minute later, the shrieks die and Harry's left with a shrivelled corpse. He coughs one last time then groans and sets the body on fire.

"I hate swimming," he mutters to himself.

* * *

He has to buy himself a new mobile phone. It's in his pocket instead of his bag, which he long ago Wished waterproof, when the creature tries to drown him, but magic and electronics don't mix well, even with his Wish Magic, so he can't fix it.

Buying a mobile, he discovers, is more effort than he really thinks it should be. Gabriel bought his last one for him and Harry naively assumes it's a simple matter of walking into a phone shop, picking one, and paying. Instead, he gets bombarded with information on different contracts and their benefits versus Pay As You Go, and when the shop clerk realises he has no idea what she's talking about, she proceeds to ask him multiple questions about how often he uses his phone and whether he calls outside of the UK, and then once she decides what type of contract would be best for him she shows him a vast array of phones available on said contract and starts advising the best features on each and their comparative prices. Everything is made even more difficult when he tells her he doesn't have a bank account to set up a direct debit for the contract, so needs to have a Pay As You Go phone, and on top of that, he'll be paying in Euros instead of pounds.

By the time he leaves, he's a hundred and fifty Euros poorer and not entirely sure he hasn't been scammed. He's certain he went to buy a phone, but somehow he's left with a rectangular thing with no dial pad and which, according to the clerk, holds photos, music, videos, and can install all the latest apps. He's not even entirely sure he knows what an app is, having heard about them in recent years but never actually found out exactly what one is, and he really doesn't see that a phone needs to have a camera in it. Staring at it as he walks down the street to somewhere he can Apparate from, he supposes he should get a little more up to date on Muggle technology. That way a phone that does more than call people might make some sense to him.

Afterwards, he goes to Italy to visit Gia, the "Hunter in Charge" that Gabriel introduced him to. Although Harry doesn't call her to act as a high ranking law enforcement agent to convince cops he's a real policeman, he does call her for help on identifying monsters when he hunts and, more importantly, their weaknesses. Most of the things that prey on humans are supernaturally strong and not going to be taken down by even a knife to the heart. Muggle Ghouls, for instance, will keep going unless their head is destroyed or removed. Vetalas, vampire like creatures that store a few humans away to slowly drink their blood, will only die when stabbed with silver knife to the heart and then twisted. Without the twist, they can survive to then kill the hunter. Harry's not sure why, but he's not about to question it. Not that he really needs to use traditional methods when he's capable of simply Wishing things dead or out of existence, but that's just too easy. He likes the physical fight sometimes, at least now that he's put on weight and muscle so he _can_ fight rather than get tossed about like a ragdoll.

Gia lives in Pontassieve, just east of Florence, and it's late evening when he arrives. Gia welcomes him into her house with a warning to be quiet.

"I've got another hunter asleep upstairs, recovering from a vampire attack," she tells him as they move to the study. "He and a couple of others tried to take out a nest in Genoa. They killed six others. Tyler barely escaped with his life."

Harry pauses in the door of Gia's study. "Tyler. That's English."

"Yes, he is an Englishman like you."

"Does he know about the wizarding world?"

"Mmhm. He is a squib."

Harry's eyes turn an unremarkable brown and his hair the same vibrant red as his mother's. "I was famous in England. I don't know if anyone will still recognise me, but I don't want them too."

Gia tsks. "Tyler has not been in England for many years and you are different than how you looked before, _tesoro_. The English, they all think you are skinny and scarred—and dead. Anyway, what can I do for you?"

Harry holds up his new phone. "I need your phone number again. But I'm not entirely sure how to add it."

She gestures for him to come around the desk to her side and he does, handing the phone to her and watching her pull up the contacts list and add her number.

"Got it?"

"As long as I don't forget. Thanks."

"What happened to your other phone?" she asks as he moves around to sit in a chair, dumping his bag by his feet and slipping the mobile into the front pocket while he tells her about the creature in Germany and his trip into the Hamburg park lake.

"Sounds like a nix," Gia tells him. "Germanic cousin to the Greek sirens. Their music ensnares listeners and then the nix drowns them."

"How are you supposed to fight them? I knew it was a monster when I first felt it, but I didn't want to kill it, presumably because of the music. How are you supposed to fight that?"

"Wear ear plugs," she jokes. "They are rare, and their music can be fought if you know what is happening. You know about them now, so you're less likely to fall prey."

"Comforting. How do you kill them traditionally?"

"Fire. It boils them."

"You talking about nixes?" asks a voice from the doorway behind Harry. He turns in his seat to look at an androgynous person of average height, currently pulling light brown hair that almost reaches their backside into a ponytail and tying it in place with a ribbon.

"You should still be resting," Gia replies, frowning.

"I'll rest when I'm dead. You tangle with a nix, stranger?"

Harry nods as the person, presumably Tyler, moves into the room and drops into a spare chair.

"In Hamburg. Almost drowned me."

"How'd you escape that? Most water spirits have got you once you're in the water."

"I Apparated."

"You're a wizard? I've never met a wizard who hunted. I'm Tyler, by the way. Tyler Lyle."

Harry starts, now even more glad that he altered his appearance. He didn't even think of his old friend when Gia mentioned the name Tyler, even when she said he was a squib. He had, in fact, almost forgotten Tyler is no longer a wizard; Harry's memories of the time after his imprisonment in Malfoy Manor are sketchy and it's not a time he likes to remember anyway. Even looking at him now it takes Harry a moment to connect the person in front of him with the boy he used to know. Tyler looks like life hasn't been kind to him since they were in school, with his eyes shadowed and face gaunt, dressed in a hoodie and jeans despite the warm summer weather.

He realises he hasn't responded and clears his throat. "I'm Eric."

"Nice to meet you. How'd you get into hunting?"

"I... got possessed by a demon. When it was exorcised, I figured I'd take up demon hunting." It's mostly the truth. "Seemed as good a job as any and I had nothing else to do. You?"

"I lost my magic to a vampire when I was sixteen. Didn't take it well, eventually ended up in Amsterdam with a drug habit, almost got killed by another vampire and got saved by a Muggle. Figured if Muggles could fight vampires, I could get my shit together and fight vampires too." He pauses, then adds bitterly, "Not that I'm doing a very good job of it."

" _Tesoro_ ," Gia sighs. "It was not your fault."

Tyler shakes his head angrily. "Maybe it wasn't, but we're never going to kill this bastard. Valentine's nest is growing. He had twenty vampires last time I went after him; now he's got fifty."

Harry frowns. "Valentine?"

Tyler nods. "Gabriel Valentine. Oldest vampire in Europe."

"But he's dead. I—someone killed him, years ago. They burned his house down."

"If you're talking about the fire in England in ninety-six, he survived it. He's a tough son of a bitch."

"I can kill him."

Gia and Tyler both look at Harry, Tyler sceptical, Gia calculating.

"Look, mate, I know you've got some firepower as a wizard," Tyler says, "but this guy has fifty vampires on his side and he's seriously powerful himself."

"Take me to their nest. I'll kill every one of them."

"Eric—"

"Give him a chance, Tyler," Gia interrupts.

"Gia, Valentine killed the others and I just barely got out, now you want to send this guy in to get killed too? Unless you've got another fifty wizards squirrelled away, we have no chance of killing Valentine. _None_."

"Eric isn't your average wizard, Tyler."

Tyler looks between the two, taking in Harry's set expression and Gia's imploring eyes, and sighs. "Fine. You can say your prayers tonight and I'll drive you to Genoa in the morning. I'm going out for a fag."

* * *

Harry does pray that night, but not for help fighting vampires.

"Hey, Gabriel, I know you don't like me praying to you, but my mobile got damaged and I had to buy a new one, so I lost your number, so if you could just... come by at some point and give me it again, I'd appreciate that."

Gabriel doesn't come that night, but as it's not an emergency, Harry doesn't worry about it. Gabriel is an angel after all; he probably has a lot of things to do all over the world. Harry takes the time to write another letter to Draco instead, telling him about Tyler and the nix and adding it to the growing collection of unsent letters steadily taking up space in his backpack.

* * *

It takes three hours to drive from Pontassieve to Genoa the next morning. Harry sits in the passenger seat of Tyler's car and listens to Tyler tell him about his life without giving away too much information about himself. He learns that Tyler left England in 2003 and hasn't been back since; that his family mostly hate him not only because of the drugs he used to take, but also because he slept with his step-brother Cid Villier's fiancée, and made an idiot of himself at his half-sister Layla's wedding; and that the only person from the English wizarding world Tyler has spoken to since leaving is Michaela Creevey, who's his cousin since Layla married Michaela's cousin Dennis in 2002. Michaela lives in Marseille, France, where she works as an Unspeakable for the British Ministry.

"Not entirely sure what she does exactly," Tyler admits. "But then I never knew what Marcus—my dad, he used to run the DoM—did either. Nature of being an Unspeakable, I guess. Whatever it is it doesn't stop her smoking enough pot to get an elephant high."

"Pot?"

"Weed. Marijuana."

"Oh. Shouldn't Ministry employees not use drugs?"

Tyler shrugs. "They employed her despite a history of drug use and she can claim it's medical use only. The drugs she took as a teenager messed up her insides and it causes her pain, but she can't take a lot of potions because of the same reasons. Smoking weed helps with the pain without harming her guts."

* * *

Valentine and his vampires live on the outskirts of Genoa in a large hotel with closed signs proclaiming it awaiting renovations. Tyler parks his car on the street outside and asks, "So what's the plan?"

"I walk in there and kill them all," Harry answers simply. "You should wait here."

"No arguments here," Tyler agrees. "Best of luck, mate. I'll drink one for you if you don't make it out. How long do you want me to give you?"

"Ten minutes."

"Sure. Don't you want your bag?" he asks when Harry gets out without taking his backpack from the back seat. "Or a weapon or something? Have you even got your wand?"

"Yes," Harry lies. "It's all I need. I'll be back soon."

"Alright," Tyler says sceptically as Harry waits for a gap in the traffic and crosses the road.

Once he's unlocked the front doors and entered the building, he stops to feel out with his magic, trying to estimate exactly how many vampires there are and where, then starts making his way through the hotel. He conjures blades and beheads every vampire he finds, getting through twelve before one of them wakes up and screams just before he decapitates them, alerting the rest. He almost enjoys killing the rest, exercising his magic to wield blades with invisible hands to chop the heads from vampires moving at superhuman speeds. Not one of them manages to lay so much as a finger on him.

Seven minutes after he enters the hotel, he leaves and walks back to Tyler's car.

"They're all dead."

"Seriously?"

Harry nods. "You can come inside and see, but I don't think Valentine was there. There are some humans in there, being kept as food. I wasn't sure if I should release them or leave them and call the police."

Tyler grabs a machete from under his seat then gets out and follows Harry across the street. "Why do you think Valentine wasn't in there?"

"Something one of the others said," Harry lies. In truth, he Wishes for Valentine's dead body to appear on the service desk in the lobby when he finishes his rampage, but it never shows up and none of the heads there match what he remembers Valentine looking like.

"Fuck. How many humans were there?"

"Nine. All adults."

"We'll... decide something. Where are—Jesus holy shit," Tyler interrupts himself as they enter the hotel lobby, where Harry has laid out the vampires' bodies with their heads resting on their chests. "You must be one hell of a wizard, Eric."

Harry just shrugs.

"I'm not seeing Valentine here," Tyler remarks, moving between the bodies and scanning the faces. "And the bloke's handsome enough you don't forget his face."

Two figures appear in the lobby, right behind Harry, who's only reaction is to stagger and drop to his knees as the presence of an angel washes over him, overwhelming his mind with light-headed giddiness that he's felt only once before. When a hand touches his head, he sighs softly and then loses consciousness.

Tyler starts to raise his machete, but barely tenses his muscles before it's knocked out of his hands and Gabriel Valentine wraps a hand around his throat and picks him off the floor so their heads are level and Tyler's feet dangle inches off the ground.

"You have plagued me for too long, squib. I have let you escape me before; today, you die."

* * *

Harry opens his eyes to the sight of navy bed hangings. He stares at them for a moment then sits up quickly, feeling out with his magic... and getting nothing. He looks around, finding himself set on a massive, comfortable bed in the centre of a room. There's an armchair, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a vanity table. The thick curtains on the window are drawn and the two doors are shut, giving him no indication of where he is. But as he glances down at himself, he loses concern with where he is.

His scars are gone.

He whimpers, touching his arms, feeling desperately for the runes he's so familiar with, but there's nothing. He runs his hands over his arms, his face, under his t-shirt, even pushing down his trousers to feel his legs, but finds not one rune. The only markings left on his skin are the lightning bolt on his forehead and the anti-possession tattoo on his forearm. Around his wrists and ankles are thick, brown leather cuffs held shut with small padlocks. When he tries to use magic, he can't.

His breath catches, his heart pounds inside his chest, and the room around him spins. He gasps, trying to breathe but unable to draw air, and his heart feels like it's trying to force its way through his ribcage. He recognises the sensations of a panic attack and he closes his eyes and tries to control his breathing, clenching and unclenching his fists, which has helped before, but it doesn't work. He's too aware of the leather against his skin and the inability to feel magic, and it overwhelms all his attempts to fight it off. He can only wait it out and it feels like an eternity before it's over.

Even then it's another few minutes before he can think enough to get up. He goes to the window and yanks the curtains open. He can see Tyler's car on the street below, telling him he's still in the hotel in Genoa, and it's still daylight, though to the right he can see the sun now hangs low on the horizon. He tries the window, but it's locked, and goes instead to the doors. One pair is a double and he assumes they lead out the room, but he goes to the single, which opens into a bathroom. He tries the small window in there, but that's locked too and he opens the small bathroom cabinet. It holds a few items, but nothing he can use to cut the cuffs, nor do the drawers under the sink. Fighting back another wave of panic, he returns to the bedroom and goes to the double doors, hesitating before he pulls them open.

They take him into a large sitting room and the first thing he notices is the smell of blood. The curtains in this room are drawn tightly shut as well and there's another set of double doors. A drinks cabinet is set to one side, a bookcase on either side of it, and a large sofa sits in the middle of the room with Gabriel Valentine sat on it, one leg crossed over the other. Hanging from the chandelier by his wrists, feet barely touching the floor, is Tyler, naked and bleeding from a bite on his throat and another on his right thigh.

"I'm glad to see you awake, Harry," Valentine says with a voice like honey, rising smoothly to his feet. Harry makes a run for the other double doors, despite knowing it'll be no good, that he can't outrun a vampire, and he doesn't even get halfway to them before Valentine crosses the room and grabs Harry, pulling him back against his chest. He ducks his head and Harry cries out as teeth sink into his throat, squirming uselessly against Valentine's supernaturally strong arms and desperately trying to use magic. It feels disgusting, the mouth sucking on his neck, tongue lapping against his skin, a few drops of blood escaping to drip down to his collar.

Valentine stops and Harry shudders as his tongue swipes over the bite before Valentine lifts his head again, nuzzling his face against Harry's hair. "You were promised to me once, Harry," he says softly. "Do you remember that?"

Harry shakes his head, not in answer but merely in objection to the idea of being promised to Valentine. He remembers not objecting when it happened, but Valentine used the vampire seduction then, the power vampires who were once wizards can use to endear humans to them. He's not using it this time, leaving Harry with all his fear at what Valentine plans to do.

"You're lying," Valentine murmurs, shifting his grip to keep hold of Harry while lifting him off the floor and carrying him across the room to the sofa. "I know you remember, Harry. You were promised to me, you agreed to join me, to sit at my feet as my consort, and then you burned down my home and killed my family, my children, my lovers."

"Please," Harry whimpers. "Don't."

Valentine laughs. He lowers Harry to the floor, laying him on his back and catching his wrists in one hand, pinning them above his head, while he forces one knee between Harry's legs.

"Don't what? Kill you? You would deserve it. It would be justice for the family of mine that you murdered seventeen years ago and just this morning."

He lowers his head, mouth mere millimetres from Harry's until Harry turns his head away and Valentine chuckles into his ear. "I'm not going to kill you, Harry. If I wanted you dead, I would merely have asked my angel friend Leliel to do it for me. She owed me a favour, you see, after I saved her life some years ago. I finally called in that favour and had her cure you of the ghastly scars so I could put these cuffs on you."

His hand tightens around Harry's wrists until it's painful enough to make Harry whimper, and turns his head, pressing his cheek to Harry's and looking at Tyler.

"I followed your friend here to the hunter's house in Pontassieve last night, intending to kill him for his attack on my nest yesterday, but I heard you inside, could sense that..." He buries his face in Harry's hair and inhales. "That _power_ , and I knew it would be foolish to enter the house. I listen and observe the things around me. I know you're a danger to all things supernatural, all the creatures that feast and prey on humanity, even the demons—they've all learned to fear you. They barely even dare speak your name, which is probably the only reason the mortals haven't discovered you alive. So I took precautions, I called on the only person I knew that would be able to best you. I have taken away your protective scars and now..."

He draws back, his free hand gripping Harry's chin and forcing his head around to look up at him. "Now I am going to take revenge. I'm not interested in justice, Harry, when revenge is so much sweeter. You took what was important to me, so I will take what's important to you, and there's no one that doesn't know the most important thing to Harry Evans is his magic."

He takes the hand from Harry's chin and lifts it to his own mouth, biting into his wrist. Harry's eyes go wide and he renews his struggling, fighting desperately as Valentine splits his skin then lowers his bleeding wrist to Harry's mouth. A wizard loses all his power when he becomes a vampire; Harry learned that in second year Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he'd rather die than get turned.

But Valentine lets go of Harry's wrists and uses that hand to wrench Harry's mouth apart, completely unmoved when Harry grabs his arm and tries to shove him away, then forces his wrist into Harry's mouth. Blood spills over Harry's tongue, coppery and sickening, sliding to the back of his throat until he's forced to swallow.

He sobs when Valentine pulls his hand away, turning his head and spitting blood on the carpet, but Valentine just laughs, climbing off him. "You've drunk, Harry. You're one of us now."

He knows it's true. He can already feel his body changing, teeth aching, blood burning through his veins, his senses increasing. Already he thinks he can hear Tyler's heart beat, can smell the blood dripping over his old friend's skin, and the light in the room seems to grow brighter.

Valentine hauls him off the floor, setting him on his feet and turning him towards Tyler, who's heartbeat speeds up as he watches the two of them warily.

"Feed," Valentine orders. "When you have, I will take off those cuffs."

He shoves Harry at Tyler. Harry staggers, grabbing at the other man to steady himself, and moaning at the scent of blood and the sound of Tyler's heart pulsing in his chest. He leans in, inhaling deeply, brushing his lips against the skin of Tyler's chest and grabbing his hips.

"Harry, please don't."

His hands clench on Tyler's hips.

"Harry, we used to be friends. Don't do this to me."

Valentine's hands settle on Harry's shoulders. "Feed, Harry. You'll feel better when you do."

"Harry, don't, please."

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, hands trembling, and remembers the Tyler he used to know, the Tyler who was his friend for five years, the Tyler whose childhood friend Harry helped kill.

He shoves himself away from both men. "No," he pants. "No, I won't. I won't feed."

Valentine snarls. Harry turns to face him, but Valentine doesn't attack him, though his eyes are narrowed angrily. "You will feed, Harry, and you will feed on him. You can't fight it."

He turns and stalks around the sofa and out the room. He slams the door behind him and the click of the lock turning sounds like thunder to Harry's ears. He still goes over to it when he hears Valentine's footsteps moving away, pulling at the handles and Wishing for it to unlock, but either the doors are stronger than they look or he hasn't turned enough yet to obtain vampire super-strength.

"Harry."

He turns slowly, looking at Tyler, eyes drawn first to the blood on his leg before raising his gaze, lingering on the bite on his throat before eventually dragging his eyes up to meet Tyler's.

"You faked your death, didn't you? Why?" he asks when Harry nods.

"It was better. Dad didn't need me. He has a new family now. Had. He died. I killed him while I was possessed."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Harry, stop."

"Stop what?"

"Moving towards me. Just stay where you are."

Harry freezes. He hadn't even realised he was approaching Tyler. "You smell good."

"In another situation, that might not be creepy. Harry, you have to get me out."

"I can't open the doors."

"The window. Take the sheets and hangings from the bed and make a rope because I don't think this one tying me will be long enough. You're doomed, but you can still help me get out."

Harry nods, going over to one of the windows and tugging the curtains open. It faces north and the sky beyond is darker than it looked from the bedroom, dim enough that the light doesn't hurt his eyes or sting his skin, helped by his incomplete transformation. The window's locked like the bedroom ones so he shifts his stance and knocks his elbow into the glass, but it doesn't break. He tries again, then tries kicking it, but it holds firm. Behind him, Tyler swears.

"We could use an angel ourselves right about now. You think that chick with him was really one? I've never heard of angels being a real thing since I've been hunting."

Harry turns, realisation spreading over his face. "Gabriel."

Tyler lifts his head, looking warily towards the door. "He's coming back?"

"No, no, a different Gabriel. He's an angel, he helps me. He can come. He can save you."

He closes his eyes, puts his hands together and hopes his changed state won't interfere with his prayer.

"Gabriel, please, this is an emergency. I've been turned into a vampire and the one that made me is trying to make me eat an old friend of mine. You have to come save him. Please, you have to save Tyler even if you can't help me. Please."

He drops his hands and opens his eyes, holding his breath, waiting for the sound of wings and a familiar face to appear, but there's nothing.

"Your guardian angel is Gabriel?" Tyler asks. "The same Gabriel that told the virgin Mary she was pregnant with Jesus?"

"I don't know, I never asked, but he's not my guardian angel, he just helps me sometimes. He taught me how to hunt. And I'm not actually supposed to tell anyone about him."

"If he gets me out of here alive, I swear to God I will tell no one."

"I don't think he's coming," Harry says unhappily. "He probably can't hear me now."

Tyler looks thoughtful for a minute then asks, "Will he hear me?"

"I don't know. Probably. You're human."

"Right then. Gabriel? My name's Tyler Lyle. I'm a friend of Harry Evans and we're in a bit of sticky situation. He's a vampire and he's going to eat me, so if you could maybe... fly down here or whatever it is angels do, and give us a hand, we'd really appreciate that." He pauses, then adds, "Amen."

There's still no flutter of wings. Harry slumps to the floor.

"We're fucked," Tyler says.

* * *

"I'm just going to the ladies," Amelia Richardson tells Sam Winchester in a bar in Kermit, Texas, USA. She hops off her stool and kisses his cheek before navigating her way between the tables and over to the toilets. Sam watches her go with a fond smile, lifting his beer to his lips when she's vanished from sight.

"Hey, Sam."

He turns. A man has sidled into the space between him and the couple of women giggling over their martinis that sit just down the bar. The man is almost as tall as Sam, putting him well over six feet, and although Sam's certain he's never seen him before there's something familiar about his smirk.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes! I was hoping you'd tell me if the rumours are true that you once cured Dean of being a vampire."

Sam's vaguely polite expression falls instantly to one of angry suspicion. "Who are you?"

"An angel friend. Notice the word 'friend'. So, is it true?"

"Look, I'm not in the hunting life anymore."

"Oh, I know. I've heard all about Sam Winchester bowing out after his brother disappeared. So that pretty lady probably knows nothing about the supernatural, right?"

Sam swallows and glares.

"So tell me if it's true there's a vampire cure, and I'll be on my way without your lovely lady friend knowing I was ever here."

"Yes," Sam says. "If they haven't fed. Now go."

"What's the cure? What do I need?"

Sam sighs, but tells him.

* * *

Tyler staggers away the moment Harry unties him from the chandelier, eying him warily and backing up despite his legs feeling shaky. Harry remains where he is, clenching the rope that suspended Tyler, his gaze fixed on Tyler's throat. Tyler lifts a hand and presses it to the bite that's mostly scabbed over and Harry lifts his eyes.

"I want you."

"If I knew you were talking about my dick instead of my blood, I'd say yes."

Harry closes his eyes and turns away, clenching his teeth. Tyler keeps one eye on him while he goes to where Valentine tossed his clothes and starts to pull them on.

"You know I used to hate you," he says conversationally, making Harry turn slowly to look at him. "After your trial, when you confessed to all the murders you committed, I hated you for killing my friend Charlie. You remember her?"

Harry nods, his expression pained. "I never wanted to."

"I know, but you did it and I hated you after that. Our whole fifth year—your sixth—you acted like my friend even though you killed Charlie, and I was furious at you for it. I wished so much that the Dementors were still at Azkaban and you'd been given the Kiss instead of just a life sentence. And I blamed you for making me a squib. When I started using, I blamed you for that too, and when I wasted all the money Marcus left me and started selling myself I blamed that on you. I just hated you and blamed you for everything."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Mostly to keep you distracted and thinking about this instead of my blood," Tyler answers. He finishes dressing and moves to the drinks cabinet, opening it to look through in search of something that he can use as a weapon or lock pick. "Also because I've wanted to tell you this for a long time. I blamed you for ruining my life all because you killed Dumbledore."

"I don't understand. How did that—"

"Ruin my life? Doesn't make sense, right? Well, I was angry and high and young and not very logical." He finds an ice pick and a wooden handled corkscrew, and grips the ice pick in one hand; it won't be that great against vampires, but it's better than nothing. He keeps searching. "The way I figured it was this: you killed Dumbledore, Dumbledore's death let the Death Eaters take over the Ministry, which got Marcus killed, which left me easy prey for Danni—the vampire that stole my magic."

"They can't steal magic," Harry interjects, prompting Tyler to focus all his attention on him for a moment. "I learnt a lot about magic. Humans don't produce magic, we just have the ability to channel it, so it can't be stolen from us. I don't know exactly what vampires do that stops a wizard being able to use it, but they don't steal it."

"Oh," Tyler says. "Right. Well, anyway, I became a squib and I blamed you. Being a squib is what depressed me and drove me to drugs, and drugs made me a whore, so it was easy for me to blame all that on you."

"You were always kind of a whore," Harry says, because he's not sure what else to say.

Tyler shakes his head, finishing his search of the drinks cabinet and straightening up. "I always enjoyed sex, and I still do, and in all honesty there's nothing wrong with whores. It's a legitimate profession, even if it's illegal in a lot of places, but I wasn't doing it because I wanted to or because I liked it, I did it because I needed money for drugs and the people I did it with were about as far from respectable as you could get. I got beat as often as I got paid and I was lucky not to catch any number of diseases. There was nothing respectable about it. It was just all around degrading."

His ponytail has come loose and he tugs the ribbon free then runs his fingers through it before retying it up as he speaks. "But I don't blame you for that anymore. Once I got my shit together and cleaned up, I realised how stupid it was to blame you. Chances are you probably even saved my life." He smiles when Harry looks surprised. "Yeah, see I figured that even if you'd said no to Voldemort and refused to join him or even just refused to kill Dumbledore, you'd have ended up dead or locked up like you were and Dumbledore probably would have died anyway. Voldemort was taking over and Dumbledore stood in the way; it's no surprise he killed him. You were just the weapon. But if you'd been dead, there wouldn't have been anyone to save me from Danni, and she would have killed me eventually. So I don't blame you for ruining my life and I don't hate you. At least, I won't if we can get out of here without you eating me."

He picks up the corkscrew he found and tosses it to Harry, who catches it instinctively then looks at him questioningly.

"Try and get those cuffs off. They're blocking your magic, right? You might be just human enough for now to still be able to use it."

Harry nods and starts hacking at the leather while Tyler moves towards the bedroom to search it for anything useful, but he's barely reached it when the sitting room door opens and Valentine stalks inside. Tyler lunges into the bedroom and slams the door behind him, flicking the lock, while Harry shifts his grip on the corkscrew and drops into a fighting stance.

"Enough story time," Valentine snarls. "I've listened to you two play catch up, now it's time you fed, Harry."

"No. I'm not going to be a monster and I'm not going to feed on Tyler."

Valentine sneers and stalks towards the bedroom door. Harry lunges at him, wielding the corkscrew. Valentine knocks him aside with ease and grabs the handle of the bedroom door. When it doesn't open, he lifts a leg to kick it, only for Harry to throw himself at him, knocking them both to the floor. Valentine snarls and throws him off so hard Harry flies halfway across the room and hits the floor with a thud and a groan. Valentine is up immediately, smashing his foot into the door and knocking them open. He growls in annoyance at discovering Tyler's locked himself in the bathroom, smashes open that door too, and easily knocks the ice pick from his hand and hauls him out the bathroom.

He drags him through the sitting room, where Harry's just getting to his feet, and jerks Tyler's head back, baring the bite on his neck. Harry glances at him, nostrils flaring, but backs up a step and then notices the still open doors to the hall. Thinking he might find a better weapon elsewhere, he climbs over the sofa in two easy movements and runs, but Valentine's faster. He gets between Harry and the door, knocks him to the floor, then shoves Tyler down on top of him and bends over them both, gripping Tyler and shoving his throat towards Harry's mouth. Harry's hands push at Tyler's chest, but as Tyler's throat gets nearer his resistance lessens and he whimpers, gaze fixed on the bite that's split open and is starting to ooze blood again. He opens his mouth, ignoring Tyler's shouted objection and struggles, and then there's a sound of wings and Valentine throws himself away from the two men in an effort to avoid the silver angel blade swinging at his neck.

Gabriel bends down, grabbing Tyler by the back of the neck and jerking him away from Harry just before teeth meet flesh. Harry snarls unhappily and starts to rise, but Gabriel shoves him back down again with his foot. Valentine launches himself at Gabriel, trying to grab the angel blade while avoid being decapitated by it, and the two tumble into a fight. Tyler scrambles to his feet, eyes on Harry as he gets up as well.

"Harry, you don't want to hurt me. We're friends, Harry. You don't want to feed."

Harry doesn't move, but his gaze remains fixed on Tyler's neck and his teeth bared, the canines looking decidedly pointier than they had earlier.

Valentine knocks the angel blade from Gabriel's grip. It slides across the floor to stop at Tyler's feet and he scoops it up without a second thought, holding it defensively in front of him. Valentine starts towards him only for Gabriel to grab him and jerk him back. He grips Valentine's hair in one hand and jerks his head back, and Tyler doesn't even hesitate to swing the angel blade straight through the bared neck. Even as blood splatters across his front he shifts his stance, facing Harry.

Gabriel drops Valentine's body, but holds the head by his hair. "Harry, have you fed?"

Harry doesn't look away from Tyler. "Not yet."

"Is this the guy that turned you?"

"Yes."

"Good, then I can cure you."

"Cure him?" Tyler repeats, keeping his own gaze fixed on Harry. "I've never heard of that. Who are you anyway?"

"I'm Gabriel, the angel." He takes a jar from his pocket, filled with red liquid and several herbs and plants, and crouches, putting Valentine's head down to unscrew the jar's lid then holds the head over it, shaking slightly to make blood drip down into the jar. That done, he swirls the jar to mix it slightly then goes to Harry, putting himself between him and Tyler. "Drink this."

Harry takes it. "This will cure me?"

"So I've been told, by a mostly reliable source. Won't be pleasant though."

Harry hesitates to drink it. "Can I use magic when I'm cured? I'll get it back, won't I?"

"I don't know," Gabriel answers honestly. "But it beats being a vampire, doesn't it?"

Harry's expression says otherwise, but he takes a deep breath, lets it out in a rush, then gulps the cure down. It tastes foul and he gags, but forces himself to swallow the lot.

Nothing happens at first. Tyler opens his mouth to ask how long it takes to work, and then Harry staggers, drops to one knee, and vomits watery black gunk.

"Oh, gross," Tyler says and Gabriel steps back to avoid getting puked on. Harry retches up at least a pint of gunk, then groans, jerking back and falling over, clutching his stomach and whining animalistically. It last for almost a minute before he eventually goes limp.

"Did it work?" Tyler asks, edging forwards, the angel blade still raised.

"Yeah, he's human," Gabriel answers, stepping over the puddle of gunk to crouch beside Harry. "Alright, Harry?"

He nods, turning his head to spit on the floor, then pushes himself up only for Gabriel to press a hand flat to his chest. Pain lances through Harry, making him cry out and fall back again, and Gabriel removes his hand. Harry clutches at his chest, lifting his gaze to Gabriel's.

"What was that?"

"I carved the runes you're so fond of into your bones."

Harry gapes at him.

"You're not serious," Tyler says.

"Perfectly," Gabriel replies. "Keep it secret. No one can remove what they don't know exists. Now try removing those cuffs."

Harry frowns at him, but makes a Wish and the padlocks unlock and he's able to pull the cuffs off his wrists and ankles. He looks up at Gabriel in amazement. "You're brilliant."

Gabriel grins. "I know." He rises to his feet and turns to Tyler as Harry does likewise. "I'd like my blade back, thanks."

Tyler hands it over without hesitation. "So you're a real angel, then?"

"Real as you are," Gabriel confirms, slipping the blade into the inner pocket of his jacket. "And if you can't keep me a secret, I'm going to make you forget me."

Tyler shakes his head. "I'm not disobeying an angel. You saved my life; I'm seriously grateful. Can I ask a question though?"

"Shoot."

"Do I have to give up sex and smoking to get into heaven?"

Gabriel bursts into laughter and even Harry smiles.

"No," Gabriel answers, grinning. "Just be a decent person. Now, Harry, you mentioned a new phone last night?"

"Oh, yeah." He makes a Wish and his bag appears at his feet. He crouches, digging his phone out and then hesitating as he tries to remember how to add a contact. He eventually gets there and adds the number when Gabriel recites it, then Tyler gives him his and gets Harry to send him a text so Tyler's phone will have his number.

"You want mine?" Harry asks in surprise.

"Sure, why not? You're a damn good hunter. I wouldn't mind having you as back up occasionally, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Harry tells him, honoured that Tyler would even want him despite his earlier admittance that he doesn't still blame Harry for ruining his life.

* * *

The humans that the vampires keep as food are still locked in the hotel's kitchen and Valentine has apparently burned the bodies of his fellow vampires, so Harry and Tyler call the police from Tyler's car and tell them a bunch of hostages are being held in the hotel. Gabriel has already disappeared to do whatever it is he does and Harry and Tyler make the drive back to Gia's house.

"Hey, Tyler, just a quick question," Harry says as they drive. "Didn't you used to get travel sick?"

Tyler laughs. "Yeah, I still do if I'm not the one behind the wheel. Something about being in control of the vehicle keeps my stomach settled. Good thing too; Muggle motion sickness pills aren't half as effective as Travel Sickness Potions."

When they reach Pontassieve, Gia greets them both with hugs and kisses on the cheeks, saying she thought they'd died when she didn't hear from them. She cooks them a late dinner then Tyler trudges up to her guest bedroom while Harry informs Gia about the vampire cure and then curls up on her sofa to sleep.

* * *

The next morning he showers and takes the time to look over his naked body, running his hands over the perfectly clear skin and marvelling slightly at the sight of himself. He almost always wears a glamour over his scars, so the sight of clear skin isn't surprising, but the glamour doesn't make the scars disappear from touch so the feel of smooth, unmarked flesh is an almost novel sensation. He's had the scars for half his life and it seems twice that long since he was sixteen and unmarked by runes.

By the time he returns downstairs, he finds Tyler sat on the sofa eating a bowl of cereal and watching cartoons while Gia potters around the kitchen in a nightie and dressing gown, yawning and muttering about having no clean mugs. Harry joins Tyler, but his attention isn't on the TV. Still reassuring himself he hasn't lost any of his abilities after his time as an almost-vampire, he feels his surroundings with magic and he focuses it on Tyler and Gia.

On wizards, Harry can feel magic flowing into them, the gentle stream that the Assistant first told him about, which is drawn into them and then assimilated. On Muggles, the magic merely flows around them, reacting no differently to them than it does to other non-magical animals. Tyler and Gia are the only two squibs he's been around for long enough to examine the feel of their magic and as he sits there he realises they feel different to each other. Gia has a minimal flow of magic, the tiny amount that let squibs see Dementors, Thestrals, and use the floo network, but although that same amount is assimilated into Tyler, a larger amount of magic seems to drifts towards him, as it does for most wizards, almost as though it's trying to flow through him but is being blocked.

Harry considers the other man for a moment, then closes his eyes, focuses all his attention on the magic around Tyler, and Wishes for his magic flow to be unblocked. Nothing happens and he frowns then rewords it: I Wish for Tyler Lyle's magic to flow as it did when he was fifteen.

Tyler twitches and shivers as though someone's just brushed a feather over his back, and Harry grins and opens his eyes as the magic trying to flow into Tyler does so.

"Hey, Tyler, did you keep your wand after you became a squib?"

Tyler pauses with his spoon halfway to his mouth to look at Harry oddly. "I left it in my trunk with all my other school stuff. Why?"

"Where is it now?"

"My trunk? I don't know. I left it in the attic at Dylan's—my father's—house. If Olivia, my step-mum, didn't throw it out after I got kicked out, it might still be there, but that was over ten years ago. Why are you asking about that?"

Harry makes a Wish and a wand appears on his lap. He picks it up. "This yours?"

Tyler nods slowly. Harry holds it out. "Try and cast a spell."

Tyler puts his bowl down on the coffee table with a thud. "Is this a joke?"

"No. Just trust me, Tyler. Try a spell. A simple one—the Levitation Charm."

"Harry, I'm a _squib_ ," he says angrily, getting to his feet. "This isn't fucking funny."

Harry leaps up after him, grabbing his arm to stop him stalking away. "Tyler, stop. I can feel magic, okay? I feel magic in the air, I feel how it moves and flows and interacts with everything around me, including people."

"I don't care," Tyler spits, trying to jerk his arm away.

"Remember at the hotel when I said humans have the ability to channel magic? I feel that and it's different on squibs than on wizards. I was feeling you just now—" Tyler raises his eyebrows and Harry flushes slightly, but carries on "—and I noticed you feel different to Gia."

"Different how?" Gia asks, now leaning against the living room door frame with a cup of tea in both hands.

"You have a tiny bit of magic flowing in you, which is what lets you see Dementors and use the floo and stuff. Wizards have more magic flowing through them, and when they cast a spell they draw in even more, but you, Tyler, you had almost a block on yours. A wizard-level amount of magic was trying to flow into you, but only a squib-level amount got through. I unblocked it, so now... you should be able to do magic again."

Tyler glances over at Gia, who shrugs, then back to Harry. "Harry, I... please tell me you're not lying to me."

"I'm not, I swear. I... I can't promise you can do spells," he admits reluctantly. "All I can say is that your magic is flowing like any other wizard's now and in my experience, that means you _should_ be able to do spells, but I've never done this before."

Tyler eyes him for a minute, searching his face for any hint of lying or pranking, then sighs and takes the wand from Harry. "Levitation Charm. Swish-and-flick, right?"

Harry nods, watching him nervously as Tyler turns to his cereal bowl. He takes a deep breath, flexes his fingers on the wand, then flicks it at the bowl. " _Wingardium Leviosa_."

Harry doesn't realise he's holding his breath until the bowl lifts an inch off the table and he lets the air out with a whoosh. Tyler makes a shocked noise and the bowl drops, but he instantly recasts the spell and makes it float all the way to the ceiling then slowly back down again. When it's settled, he stares at his wand in amazement before lifting his gaze to Harry, who's biting his lip and trying not to grin. He doesn't expect Tyler to grab him suddenly and plant a firm kiss on his lips.

"You're amazing."

Harry flushes and grins.

"Seriously, Harry, I can't ever repay you enough for this."

Harry shrugs. "I owed you one. You don't have to."

"Thank you."

"It's very impressive," Gia remarks and they both turn to her. She has a sad smile on her face and some of Tyler's joy fades.

"Gia—"

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "I never had magic, _tesoro_ , though I always wanted it, but that's not so bad as having magic and losing it. I'm glad you got yours back."

She comes over and kisses his cheeks then kisses Harry's before leaving the room and they hear her head upstairs.


	8. Chapter 7

**5th June 2015.**

Harry's in Nez Perce National Forest in Idaho, USA, when the angels fall.

He's hunting a wendigo, a twelve foot tall, green-skinned creatures that abducts campers at night to feast on their flesh, often hoarding humans in caves or abandoned mines to store as food. They're incredibly fast and Harry has to track the creature whilst completely invisible, so it can't smell, hear, or otherwise sense him. He even flies over the ground so as not to make leaves crunch and twigs snap under foot. He can't hope to keep up with the creature and follow it to wherever it's holed up, but he knows the general area where it is and can scan around for the creature with his magic. It's time consuming, but Apparating straight to the creature's lair is risky and this allows Harry to exercise his magic, to practice the distance and exactitude with which he senses things.

He hasn't found it when the angels start to fall, little more than an hour after sunset. He senses the sudden presence of angels in the sky and stops in his search, frowning and zipping up above the trees. His mouth drops when he sees what appears to be a huge meteor shower falling to the earth, but his magic tells him it's not. He gapes as he sees one of the angels fall less than half a mile from him, its wings burning off in the moments before it crashes into the earth with enough force to make the ground shudder. Harry wants to approach it and help, but even from this distance he can feel that it's not suppressing the magic that it gives off, like Gabriel does when he visits, so Harry knows that if he gets close he'll just fall over drunk and be of no use at all, so he can only lift his head and watch the others fall.

* * *

Balthazar is in Seoul, South Korea, when it happens. It's eleven in the morning there and he's lounging by a rooftop swimming pool and enjoying a drink made of some mix of alcohol that he's not sure of, but which tastes delicious when shared with a mostly naked woman. It's hard to keep his interest in her, though, when he sees his brothers and sisters falling from the sky.

"Oh, wow! I didn't know there was going to be a meteor shower," the woman says in Korean. Balthazar doesn't answer, unceremoniously taking her from his lap and dumping her on the lounge chair as he gets to his feet.

"That isn't good," he remarks in English.

"You think?"

He turns. Gabriel stands behind him, his cheerful face unusually serious.

"It's happening all over the world," Gabriel tells him. "Angels falling, their wings burning. They've been cast out, Balthazar."

Balthazar swallows. He remembers the drink still in his hand and gulps it down then looks at Gabriel again. "Is it Him?"

Gabriel scoffs, a glimmer of his usual good cheer slipping through the seriousness. "Our Father? No. He's gone, Balthazar. He's not coming back, not even to cast out the angels, and if He did I'd be one of the first to know. Castiel killed Raphael when he opened purgatory; I'm the only archangel left now. Or I might as well be with Michael and Lucifer in The Cage."

"Then what's causing this?" Balthazar asks, gesturing to the falling angels.

"I don't know," Gabriel admits. "But I'd wager the earth that the Winchesters have something to do with it."

Balthazar looks up, watching an angel fall nearby, only a few miles away, then looks back to Gabriel. "Why do I have a feeling you're going to drag me back into things?"

Gabriel smiles. "You still owe me one, Balthy, and for all we know, we're the only two angels that still have their wings. There haven't been many staying on earth lately."

"You know if the Winchesters are involved, Castiel is too."

Gabriel nods. "I hear he helped defeat the leviathans he let out of purgatory though, so if you're lucky he won't try to kill you this time."

"And how do you expect to find them? Last I checked, they still had the warding sigils Castiel carved into their ribs."

"I know someone that can help."

Balthazar sighs. "Lead the way."

* * *

Harry is still hovering over Nez Perce when Gabriel and Balthazar appear, startling him enough he drops several feet before catching himself and floating back up to their level, hooking his thumbs through the straps of his backpack as he looks between them.

"What's going on?" he asks Gabriel. "Why are angels falling out of the sky?"

"We don't know. All I know is something's seriously wrong and the Winchesters are probably involved."

"The Winchesters? But they're just humans. Muggles, even. How could they be involved with making angels fall?"

"You'd be surprised what the Winchesters get involved with," Balthazar remarks.

"We need you to Apparate us to wherever the Winchesters are," Gabriel adds, "so we can find out what the hell they've done."

Harry raises his eyebrows. "Me? You're angels, why can't you just fly to them like you do everywhere else? You clearly haven't lost your wings."

"They have angel warding sigils carved into their ribs. We can't find them, but you can."

Harry stares at him for a moment. Never before has Gabriel mentioned angel warding and Harry's never heard of it among other hunters or from Gia either. He assumed that as celestial beings of God, angels couldn't be warded against and hadn't thought anyone would need to. They're angels, after all. They are, or are supposed to be, the good guys.

"I can find them," is all he says, though. "We should land first. I've never Apparated in mid flight; it might not be safe. And should we help the angel that landed about half a mile that way?"

They barely glance in the direction he points. "They'll manage."

* * *

Harry Apparates the three of them to the outside of an abandoned church, where they find Sam and Dean Winchester slumped on the floor against their Chevy Impala. Sam doesn't look healthy, his skin clammy and pale, blood smeared on his cheek, a bandage wrapped around his left arm. Even to Harry's magic senses he doesn't feel good, the magic around him swirling almost unhappily, reacting to him in a way Harry's never felt it react around a Muggle before.

He's also aware of something demonic inside the church, but it doesn't feel as oily and unpleasant as a normal demon, yet when he looks through the walls he sees Crowley chained to a chair in the middle of a demon trap. He's curious and concerned about the unusual sensation, but as Crowley is currently trapped, he lets his attention focus on the Winchesters as Dean scrambles to his feet, yanking a knife from his belt and holding it defensively between him and Harry, who realises then that the knife is the demon-killing one that Meg originally had.

"I'm not a demon," he tells the man.

"Yeah, sure, I'll believe that."

He lifts his sleeve to show the tattoo on his left forearm. "This is—"

"An anti-possession tattoo," Dean finishes, lowering the knife and lifting his other hand to tug down the collar of his shirt, showing an identical tattoo just below his collar. "I've got one too."

He sticks the blade back in his belt and turns his attention on the two angels. "You're supposed to be dead."

Gabriel smiles widely. "Hey, Dean," he greets with false cheer and then his expression turns serious. "What did you do?"

" _Me_?"

"Yeah, you. Whenever something like this happens you and your giant of a brother are always involved. So what happened?"

Harry's phone rings. He slips his backpack off one shoulder to pull it around and dig the phone from the front pocket, seeing Tyler's name on the screen.

"Harry," Tyler greets simply when he answers. "I'm in Wels, Austria, and there are people falling out of the sky."

"They're angels," Harry tells him. "It's happening everywhere. I'm... somewhere in America, I think."

"Angels falling? Seriously?"

"Yeah, I'm finding out what's happening right now. I'll call you back. Oh, and Tyler, don't get too close to them. They make wizards feel high or drunk and you won't be able to concentrate so just stay back."

"Right, thanks, Harry."

He hangs up, returns the phone to the bag, and looks back at Dean. "So?"

"So what?"

"What happened?" Balthazar asks.

"You know, I don't think I have to explain myself to two angels who are meant to be dead and... whoever the fuck you are. I don't remember your name."

"Harry Evans," Harry introduces even as Gabriel grabs Dean by the front of his shirt and shoves him against the car.

"The angels are being cast out of heaven, Dean," Gabriel snarls. "For all I know Balthazar and I are the only ones left with our wings intact. These are my brothers and sisters so you're going to tell me what the hell you did!"

"I didn't do anything, alright!" Dean protests. "Metatron did."

Balthazar steps forward. "Metatron? _The_ Metatron?"

"Yes."

"That's the scribe of God, right?" Harry asks. He read the bible after meeting Gabriel; it isn't the most exciting book he's ever read but he thought he should probably catch up on the religious information that he never learnt as a child.

Gabriel nods. "He fled not long after our Father abandoned us, from fear that Michael and Raphael would force him to reveal all the information he wrote for God; he went into hiding better than I did. How did you find him?" he asks Dean.

"Kind of by accident, actually. But he came out of hiding and convinced Cas to do these trials to close the gates of heaven so you guys could sort yourselves out and stop your fighting spill onto earth, but Naomi told us that Metatron was actually trying to cast the angels out as punishment for driving him away in the first place. Cas didn't believe her."

Balthazar chuckles. "It's always Castiel, isn't it? First the apocalypse, then purgatory, now this."

"What's wrong with your brother?" Gabriel asks, letting go of Dean and stepping back.

"He's been doing the trials to close the gates of hell," Dean answers, looking worriedly at Sam, whose eyes are lidded as he looks up at them all.

"He what? He can't do that!" Harry objects.

"Screw you, shorty. You don't tell us what to do."

"No, but Death can! I closed the gates of hell and locked them shut two years ago, and then Death came and he said I had to open them again."

Four pairs of eyes fix on him.

"That was you?" Balthazar asks. "I did wonder."

"What do you mean you closed them?" Dean asks. "The trials kill you, Naomi told us that."

"I don't know who Naomi is, and I don't know what trials you're talking about, but that's what happened. I closed them and Death told me to open them again."

"You closed and locked them completely," Gabriel explains to them all. "You prevented movement entirely between the realms. The trials that Sam's undertaking, they only banish all demons from earth then shut the gates to them. It still allows the newly dead to enter and the reapers to move between hell and earth."

Harry looks at Sam. "Then he needs to finish them."

"The hell he does!" Dean snaps, stepping in front of Sam and glaring at Harry. "If he finishes the trials, it kills him."

"If demons stay on earth, they will kill thousands of humans. One death is worth saving the rest of humanity."

"Not my brother," Dean insists. "When it's your life on the line, then you make the call, but my brother doesn't die. Not for anything."

"You selfish bastard. You're risking the entire world for one man."

Dean steps forward, pushing into Harry's personal space and forcing Harry to tilt his head to look up at him. "There is nothing I wouldn't risk for my brother. If you want to close the gates of hell, you go right ahead. We'll give you the trials and you can sacrifice yourself. But not my brother."

"Fine. What are they? I'll do them and die gladly if it means getting rid of demons."

"You can't," Gabriel interjects. "You would need a complete soul to undertake the trials."

Harry scowls. Dean steps back, hand drifting to the gun at his hip. "He doesn't have a soul?"

"Of course I have a soul. It's just not all in one piece," he mutters, then more loudly: "Dunno what you're getting huffy for. Last I saw you two, he didn't have a soul at all," he said, gesturing to Sam.

"Well he does now," Dean says curtly then asks the two angels, "And since we're all in such a sharing mood, how are you two alive?"

"What, you think Castiel is the only one God likes enough to bring back from the dead?" Gabriel says with a cocky grin. "I stood on Team Free Will against Mike and Luci during the apocalypse too, Dean, so God saw fit to bring me back."

"I was never dead," Balthazar adds brazenly. "I just faked it."

Gabriel looks at him and Balthazar corrects himself, "Gabriel faked it for me."

Dean's expression isn't impressed as he stares at Gabriel. "So you've been alive for the last five years, and you didn't think that maybe—just _maybe_ —you should step up and do something? You _are_ aware that heaven has been a mess since we stopped the apocalypse... right?" he asks in a tone that suggests he already knows the answer. "You know that there was a civil war up there. A civil war _you_ could have stopped if you'd stood against Raphael."

"Oh look," Gabriel sneers, "Dean Winchester, the man who'd sacrifice the world to save his brother, asking another man to kill theirs."

Dean's jaw clenches.

"I told you before, Dean. I don't like fighting. I don't want to kill my brothers."

"You didn't have to!" Dean yells. "You could have done something else. You could have convinced Raphael to stop. Anything would have been better than hiding away and letting Castiel work with _Crowley_ and opening purgatory. Where were you then, huh? Where were you when leviathans were taking over corporate America and drugging humanity into useless cattle to be bred and slaughtered for food. We could have used an archangel's help then!"

"Maybe if you paid attention to anything beyond your own back yard you'd have realised I _was_ helping," Gabriel snaps, gesturing to Harry, who looks startled. "Have you _met_ this guy? Who do you think has been teaching him to hunt? I was training the best soldier Team Free Will could ever have. It's not my fault if you were too blind to pay attention to someone that even the leviathans were scared to face."

The angels have stopped falling now, at least as far as they can see, but a lightning cloud appears overhead as Gabriel finishes talking. Dean glances up warily, but Gabriel and Balthazar both look at Harry and back away several steps.

"Soldier?" Harry repeats in a quiet voice and Dean looks at him then too, backing up until he hits his car. Even Sam shifts warily. "I hunted demons and monsters because you said it would help me heal and told me it was a step towards redeeming myself, that I could save people and make up for the lives I've taken."

"It was," Gabriel assures him hurriedly. "And you did. You saved a lot of people, Harry. Are you going to ignore that because I had extra plans on the side?"

Harry turns to face Gabriel and lightning crashes overhead at his command. Despite his training with the Assistant and everything he now knows of magic, he's never managed to control the tendency to draw in magic when he gets angry or emotional, but he's at least aware of it enough now to control what that excess magic does instead of letting it simply lash out at his surroundings.

"You used me. You tried to manipulate me, to turn me into a weapon. You just said as much."

"I also smote a demon in you, brought you back to life—three times—cured you of a serious illness, and helped you through one of the worst periods of your life. If it weren't for me, you'd still be in Azkaban prison getting dosed with sedatives, remember?"

Harry looks away, but the thundercloud overhead remains. "What are we doing about the angels?"

"We should find Cas, surely?" Balthazar suggests. "Find out exactly what happened."

"Hang on," Dean says, still looking wary about Harry even as his attention fixes on Gabriel. "Before we do anything—can you heal Sam? Cas couldn't," he adds despairingly when Gabriel looks down at Sam unsurely. "But that was during the trials and he's not an archangel. Can you do it?"

Gabriel crouches and peers at Sam, who's struggling now just to keep his eyes open. "You're a mess," he states. Sam doesn't respond. Gabriel reaches out, touches two fingers to Sam's forehead, and an orange glow ripples through his skin all across his body. The man gasps, jerks, and the magic around him settles down. Sam blinks several times, breathing rapidly, and eventually focuses on Gabriel.

"Thanks."

"Sam?" Dean queries.

"I'm fine." He gets to his feet, one hand braced on the car as he does, but when he's upright he stands steadily. "I'm fine, Dean."

Dean doesn't look entirely sure, but he turns his gaze on Gabriel. "So where do we find Cas?"

Harry lifts a hand to get everyone's attention. "Shouldn't something be done about Crowley before we go anywhere? Or are we just going to leave him tied up in that church?"

"How'd you know we've got Crowley in there?" Dean asks suspiciously.

"I can see through walls."

Dean gives him a look that says he's not in the mood for bullshit.

"I'm serious." He glances down then back up at Dean's face. "You're wearing short white boxers."

Dean shifts uncomfortably. "We can hog tie him and shove him in the trunk," he says by way of answer to Harry's original question. "There's a devil's trap on it and the chains he's in are etched with devil's traps as well. He's not going anywhere."

"Or Harry could bring Cas to us," Gabriel suggests. "Then no one has to go anywhere."

"How exactly is he going to do that?" Dean asks sceptically. Gabriel and Balthazar look at Harry expectantly and Harry, annoyed by Dean's attitude towards him, decides to be dramatic and steps back and lifts his hand, clicking his fingers as he makes a Wish. A man wearing a beige trench coat over a black suit with a blue tie appears on the floor in front of him, familiar to Harry from his time possessed by Riddle, but he feels and looks entirely human.

"Like that," he says smugly to Dean, who scowls at him.

"Oh," Balthazar says, staring at the man on the floor. "My god."

"I thought he was an angel," Harry says, frowning. "Did I get the wrong person?"

"He is an angel," Sam says, but Gabriel shakes his head.

"Not anymore."

Castiel gets to his feet, looking first at Dean and Sam then turning to look at Gabriel, Harry, and Balthazar, and his regretful expression turns to one of confusion.

"Hello, Castiel," Balthazar greets.

Castiel looks at him like he's seeing a ghost. He looks around at Sam and Dean then back to Balthazar. "I don't understand," he says in a deep voice. "Am I dead? Is this where angels go when they die?"

"You're not dead, Cas," Dean says firmly, almost angrily, pulling Castiel around to look at him. "What happened?"

Castiel looks again at Gabriel and Balthazar like he can't quite believe what he's seeing, but answers Dean, "Metatron tricked me. Naomi was right."

"We kind of figured that when the angels started falling," Dean says. "But how? What happened?"

"Killing a nephilim, cutting off a cupids bow—it wasn't trials, it was a spell. And the last piece was an angel's grace."

"He took yours, didn't he?" Sam asks quietly. Castiel nods regretfully. Dean turns away, running his hands through his hair, while Sam looks at Castiel pitifully, and Balthazar and Gabriel's faces are mournful.

"Sorry, what's a grace?" Harry asks.

"It's what makes an angel an angel," Balthazar answers. "It's their essence. Without it, they're just human."

"Okay, so Metatron turned dark and cast all the angels out after he took your grace. How do we fix this?"

" _Can_ we fix this?" Sam asks Gabriel and Balthazar. "I mean, their wings have burned off. Can you guys heal from that?"

"Not on earth," Gabriel answers. "We can in heaven, but without wings we can't get into heaven."

"But you guys can," Harry points out. "You still have your wings."

"What about Cas' grace?" Dean asks, turning back around. "Anna got hers back; can we find Cas'?"

"Doubtful," Gabriel answers. "Anna tore out her grace and fell; Castiel's was taken from him and used in a spell. It may not even exist anymore."

"I don't deserve it anyway."

Dean looks at Castiel mournfully. "Cas, don't say that."

"It's true, Dean. I killed the nephilim and took the cupids bow. I caused the angels to be cast out. I don't deserve my grace."

"Do we have a plan to fix it?" Harry asks. "Something has to be done, the angels can't just stay on earth. The one that fell near me in Nez Perce didn't do whatever it was that stops you from giving off magic; if the others aren't, all the wizards in the world are going to be suffering."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asks.

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but Balthazar shifts beside him and then he's swamped by magic. He sways, feeling abruptly light-headed, and giggles as he topples over. A pair of hands catch him before he hits the floor and he instead ends up leant against a firm chest. He hums appreciatively and rubs his cheek against the soft fabric of a shirt.

"What just happened?" he hears Dean ask, voice distorted and distant. "Why is he nuzzling my brother?"

"'S warm," Harry murmurs. "Smells like blood though."

"Tone it down, Balthazar," Gabriel says. "Before he embarrasses himself."

The fuzziness fades and Harry blinks as he comes back to himself, then jerks away from Sam, clearing his throat and not looking at the tall man.

"That's what happens when a wizard is around an angel," Balthazar says, amused. "They get high unless we suppress it."

"So there are wizards just falling over all over the world?" Sam asks.

"Anyone near one of the angels," Gabriel confirms. "Harry's right; we can't leave them on earth, and not just because of what they can do to wizards. They need to get back in heaven."

"How? You already said no one can fly back to heaven," Dean points out. "No one has wings."

"We do," Gabriel reminds him. "There may be a few others as well who were on earth when Metatron cast the spell."

"So what, you're just going to fly all the others back up?"

"No, Harry is."

Harry looks at him in surprise. "Me?"

"No, the other super-wizard named Harry," Balthazar says sarcastically and Harry scowls at him.

"Can I even do that? Put people in heaven? Don't I have to be a reaper?"

"Reapers are for the dead and you won't be going there yourself. Just make a Wish, like you always do."

"You could never enter heaven anyway," Castiel remarks. "You have no right."

"Yeah, thanks, I know that," Harry replies a touch sharply. "It's not for a lack of trying, but I can't make myself feel remorse you know."

"Remorse for what?" Sam asks.

"Killing my uncle. He deserved it," Harry adds defensively when Sam and Dean's expressions turn. "You have no idea what he did to me as a kid."

"We have more important things to do than discuss the ethics of murdering child abusers," Balthazar interjects. "Gabe, what are we going to do about Metatron?"

"The same thing he did to Cas. Rip out his grace and cast him to earth."

"He'll be suspicious of any angel that approaches him," Dean says. "You're just going to walk up and rip his grace out?"

Gabriel smiles. "I'm an archangel, Dean. You think I can't?"

Dean shrugs. "I've seen two archangels get tossed to hell, one die, and you've been killed before."

"By Lucifer. I won't be killed by some two-bit celestial secretary, even if he is God's Scribe. Besides, we're two of a kind, both left heaven because of Mike and Raphael. He'll listen to me."

"Best of luck, Gabe," Balthazar says. "We'll wait here for you."

"You're coming with me."

Balthazar laughs then realises Gabriel isn't joking. "What? Gabe—"

"You owe me, Balthy."

"I hate you."

Gabriel smiles. "No, you don't. Stay here, you three. We'll be back soon."

There's a flutter of wings and the two angels vanish. Dean immediately turns on Harry.

"How long have you known Gabriel and Balthazar were alive?"

"Um... three years," Harry answers, surprised by the demanding question. "But I didn't know that Balthazar was supposed to be dead and I don't really know him. I only met him for a few minutes years ago and then again today."

"But you know Gabriel. How?"

"Why are you asking like that? I'm not an enemy."

"You're a self-confessed murderer and you're a wizard." He draws a gun from his jacket and makes a show of cocking it, but holds it pointing down. "You want to tell me why you think you're not an enemy? Or why I shouldn't hog tie you and hand you over to the cops for murder?"

Harry narrows his gaze. The gun disappears from Dean's hand and when he looks down in surprise, Harry reaches forward, grabs his chin, and makes a Wishes. Dean cries out in shock and falls back against his car as he's suddenly given the memories of all the abuse Harry suffered at Vernon Dursley's hands.

"Dean!"

Sam starts forwards, reaching for his brother, but finds himself suddenly frozen in place.

"Tell me my uncle didn't deserve to die after that," Harry says to Dean. "Everything he did to me—I was a child! I thought my parents were dead and he was supposed to look after me. Instead he nearly killed me when I was seven years old. Tell me you wouldn't have done what I did if that was you."

"How did you do that?" Dean gasps, one hand pressed to his head. "These aren't my memories, but I can... god, I remember it all like it was me."

Harry looks away, Wishing the memories away again, and Dean lowers his hand and lifts his head, staring at Harry, who releases Sam.

"I told you," he says quietly without looking at either of them. "I'm a wizard. And I went to prison; they didn't want me there. Even if you could hog tie me, which you couldn't, no one will arrest me. I don't exist; I faked my death ten years ago. Not to mention I'm English, not American, and I don't know if I even exist in Muggle records since I haven't been a part of that world since I was a kid. So while I admire your penchants for justice, it's pointless. I'm not dangerous; the only people I kill now are monsters, just like you and all the other hunters."

Dean says nothing, but Sam now looks suspicious as well. "You might be a hunter, and maybe your uncle deserved to die, but you're still a witch."

"He's a wizard," Castiel corrects.

"Thank you!" Harry says angrily, glaring at Sam. "Call me a witch again and I'll turn you into a toad."

Sam shoots him an incredulous look. "A toad? Really? I think you've been reading too many fairytales. And are we really splitting hairs over terminology?" he says to Castiel. "We've met witches before; just because he's a guy doesn't mean he's any more trustworthy."

"It's not a matter of terminology," Castiel tells him. "Harry is a born wizard. It's in his biology to use magic, it allows them to see certain creatures that non-magical humans can't, and they have longer lifespans. Witches—the kind you've dealt with—aren't born with the ability to use magic. They have to receive demonic assistant to do so, or use complex ritual magic like you're familiar with."

"So you're saying there are other kinds of magic?"

"No, merely different ways of using it. Magic is an entity like air; the differences are in humans."

"So he's a mutant?"

"Wizardry is genetic, if that's what you mean," Castiel says while Harry mutters that he's not a mutant. "It commonly passes from parent to child, but just as often it occurs in children of non-magical heritage and is known to not appear in the children of magical parents."

"Did you know this?" Sam asks Dean, who doesn't look surprised by the information. Dean nods.

"I met a couple in purgatory."

"Purgatory?" Harry repeats. "I thought only monsters went to purgatory; what were you and a couple of wizards doing there? And while we're being suspicious of each other, why do you have Crowley tied up in there?" Harry asks, gesturing to the church. "Are you killing him? Is that part of those trials you mentioned to close hell?"

"I really don't think that's any of your business."

Harry scowls at him. "Why are you so suspicious of me? And Gabriel? Why did you ask how I knew him like it was bad?"

Dean and Sam exchange a look that makes Harry narrow his gaze suspiciously, then Sam asks, "How much has Gabriel told you about himself?"

"Not much. He's an archangel, there's not much to tell. Why?"

"So you don't know what he does all day?"

"What does that matter? I mean, he's an angel. He probably does angel stuff. Healing people, performing miracles."

"Killing people," Dean says. Harry scoffs.

"Don't be ridiculous. I know angels do kill people," he adds. "I've read the bible, I know they're warriors of God, but Gabriel wouldn't... just kill people or anything. He's Gabriel. He's God's holy messenger. Why are you smirking?"

Both brothers are and Castiel looks at the floor almost pityingly.

"Look, I hate to break it to you," Dean says in a voice that doesn't sound like he hates it, "but Gabriel does kill people."

"Well probably bad people. Criminals and stuff. Just because your angel messed up doesn't mean you have to go around vilifying mine," he says angrily, gesturing to Castiel. "How about instead of trying to turn me against Gabriel you have a go at him for making all the angels fall out of the sky?"

"Hey, you leave Cas out of it," Dean replies defensively.

"No. He did it. He admitted it himself and now Gabriel is cleaning up his mess so instead of speaking crap about him, maybe you should thank him."

"This was not Cas' fault. Metatron tricked him."

"He still did it, he's still responsible."

Dean steps forwards, getting into Harry's personal space and pointing a finger at him. "You have no idea what you're talking about, witch, so just shut your mouth."

"Dean—" Castiel says warningly, but it's too late. Harry makes a Wish and steps back as there's a faint pop and Dean's replaced by a toad.

"I said not to call me that again."

Sam grabs Harry by the front of his coat, jerking him up. "You turn him back right now."

"Let go of me."

"Turn him back! Ow!"

Sam abruptly releases Harry, staring incredulously at the burns marks his hands. Harry backs up, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Don't ever threaten me, Winchester. I don't care how big you are, I don't let anyone hurt me, not anymore."

Castiel steps forwards, raising both hands in a calming gesture. "Let's all not fight. Sam, it would be best if you didn't threaten Harry; he is incredibly dangerous. Harry, you should turn Dean back."

"No."

Sam reaches for a knife at his belt and Harry raises a hand, pointing at him. "Don't. I can do things that'd make you wish Gabriel never healed you, so just don't, Winchester."

"Turn my brother back."

There's a flutter of wings and Harry becomes aware of two angels appearing behind him, then Gabriel's voice says, "We leave you boys alone for five minutes and this is what happens?"

"Nice bit of transfiguration though," Balthazar remarks, looking down at Dean, who croaks in response.

"Turn him back," Sam pleads. Harry doesn't, but Gabriel clicks his fingers and turns Dean back, prompting Harry to scowl at the angel.

"You're an asshole," Dean tells Harry, who merely glowers at him.

"Did you deal with Metatron?" Sam asks the two angels.

"We tore out his grace and dropped him somewhere in Russia," Balthazar confirms.

"And I was right about your grace, Cas," Gabriel says apologetically. "You won't be able to get it back. You're stuck as a human."

Castiel nods, forcing a smile on his face in response to Sam and Dean's pitying looks. "It's okay. Being human isn't such a terrible thing."

"So now I put all the angels in heaven and close it?" Harry asks.

"Everyone except us."

Four pairs of eyes fix on the two angels.

"Why not you?" Dean asks.

Balthazar makes an exaggerated noise of thoughtfulness. "How about because we don't want to? Why should we be up there with those wingless sods when we can stay here on earth?"

"You'll be stuck here," Castiel says. "You'll never be able to access Heaven again."

Gabriel scoffs. "The gates won't remain closed forever; this is a temporary solution until the rest of the angels sort themselves out and remember what it was our Father wanted us to do. But Balthazar and I don't want that; we already have our place among humanity."

"And even if we didn't, do you really think staying up there is better than staying down here?" Balthazar adds. "You've been visiting earth for years, Castiel. Haven't you realised yet that for all it's flaws, it's still infinitely preferable to heaven? I mean, I don't even mind putting up with the teeming masses of humanity because, let's face it, most of the angels are dicks these days and they don't have any sense of fun."

"What about you?" Sam says to Gabriel. "Planning to keep playing at being the trickster, killing people for the sake of a prank?"

Harry rolls his eyes and Gabriel's expression is faintly amused.

"What are you talking about?"

"We realised you didn't tell your little wizard here everything. He thinks you're a friendly angel that goes around healing people and performing miracles. I guess you never mentioned your alternate identity... Loki."

"You were playing at Loki?" Balthazar asks Gabriel.

Harry frowns. "Isn't Loki the bad guy from that Avengers film?"

"He's based on real mythology," Sam says, "but the bad guy part is true."

"So what if I've killed a few people. They deserved it."

"You killed me like a hundred times!" Dean says angrily.

"I brought you back to life."

"Why?" Harry asks, drawing Gabriel's attention.

"Because I'm a nice guy."

"No, I mean, why did you kill him a hundred times? Why kill him even once? He's clearly a wanker, but what's he done to deserve to die?"

"He sold his soul. I was just trying to make Sam here realise that he wouldn't be able to stop his brother going to hell."

Harry looks from Gabriel to Sam to Dean, and then back again. "So... you killed Dean a hundred times in front of his brother just to make a point?"

"I brought him back."

"Only to kill him again," Sam says. "You put me in a time loop to make me watch my brother die over and over again."

Lightning crashes through the sky overhead. Balthazar puts some space between himself and Gabriel, turning away slightly like he's trying to distance himself from the archangel. Gabriel's eyes fix on Harry, expression serious.

"You stuck a man in a time loop and forced him to watch someone he loved die again and again? For what? To make a point?"

"Harry—"

"Have you ever lost someone, Gabriel?"

"I'm older than you can imagine; what do you think?"

"I think you're not quite who you said you were. I think you played me, Gabriel. You manipulated me into becoming a hunter, just to create a soldier, and now I find out you kill people for fun. Do you know who else did that to me? Tom _fucking_ Riddle."

Thunder claps so loudly that Sam, Dean, and Castiel wince and all three back away from Harry.

"I trusted you, Gabriel. I thought you were a good guy, but I guess you're just another monster, killing people for your own kicks."

"Going to kill me then, Harry?"

Harry smiles humourlessly. "Why would I do that? Even if you're a prize one bastard, you've helped me. Got me out of Azkaban, saved me from the demon, gave me a life, cured me after Valentine turned me into a vampire. So I won't kill you."

Gabriel cocks his head, aware that Harry's not finished but unsure of what's to come. Harry doesn't bother explaining.

"I Wish—"

It's all he gets out before Gabriel releases his magic. It's far more overwhelming than it was from Balthazar or Leliel. He's barely away of letting out a soft "Oh" and doesn't feel the ground when he hits it. He feels light enough to float away and he swears he can hear music, a gentle strum of violins that he hums along to, ignoring the murmur of voices he can hear nearby.

But Gabriel underestimates him. He cuts off Harry's spoken Wish, but his brain, despite drifting rather contently in that stream of magic, still remembers what it plans to do, and with so much magic humming around him just begging to be used, his own power reaches out, strand upon strand stretching away from him to wrap around the heatless forms of the angels. It's bigger than anything he's ever done before and feels more incredible than anything he's ever felt, this oceanload of celestial magic swamping through him and out of him again to obey his will, conforming to his thoughts before they're even fully realised. He's only vaguely aware of the... the portal, for lack of a better term... opening overhead, like a hole in the universe, and he hears himself gasp because beyond it is something white and hot and endless and so full of the incredible magic around him that he desperately wants to be there rather than here, but something anchors him in place. He thinks he moans unhappily as the heatless souls are wrenched from their bodies and rush towards the portal like snitches fleeing Seekers, wishing he could accompany them to that place.

Gabriel's is last, fighting him but realising too late that his own outburst of magic is only aiding Harry, and eventually he too disappears through the portal, which snaps shut behind him.

Harry feels the abrupt loss of magic and then—

A familiar but long unfelt weakness in his right side, the taste of vomit in his mouth, and wet, muddy gravel under his cheek. He groans, blinking his eyelids open, and looks up to find Sam crouched over him. He smiles weakly when he sees Harry awake.

"Hey. You alright there?"

He grunts. "Seizure?"

"Yeah, you had one before?"

"Ep'leptic," Harry mutters. He twitches his fingers to test his strength and decides he feels up to pushing himself into a sitting position, but that much movement makes his head spin a little so he doesn't try standing. "Had 'em all the time as a kid," he tells Sam as he wipes at his face. "Did it work? The angels gone?"

He's fairly sure they are, from what little he remembers of the end of his conversation with Gabriel and given the fact that he can no longer sense the archangel or Balthazar anywhere near, but he'd like to hear it anyway.

Sam nods. "Yeah, there was—I don't know. _Something_ happened right after you collapsed, and Gabriel looked like he was... well, he looked kind of constipated to be honest—"

Harry can't help a burst of laughter at that and Sam smiles as well.

"Then he burst into light and when we could see again he was gone. That's when you had your seizure."

"Not surprising really. Stressing my body always did trigger them and that was a lot of magic. I hope it doesn't mean they'll all come back though."

The door to the church opens and Dean and Castiel exit, heading over. Harry can still feel the slick, oily sensation of Crowley inside the building.

"What are you doing with Crowley in there?"

"Interrogation," Dean answers simply. "He's real scared of you, though. The minute we told him you were responsible for what just happened, he begged us not to let you near him."

Harry gets to his feet, gladly accepting Sam's helping hand, and attempts to wipe off his jeans then scowls and Wishes them clean instead. "I won't, for twenty-four hours. If Death doesn't visit me in that time to tell me I fucked up again, then I'm going to do to the demons what I did to the angels and shut the gates of hell, so you've got that long to finish your interrogation."

The three exchange glances and Sam shrugs. "What are you going to do in the mean time?"

"Go home and rest. See you in twenty-four hours."

* * *

"So you really sent all the angels back to heaven and closed the gates?" Tyler asks Harry. The two of them sit in Tyler's car at the side of a long stretch of road between fields in Austria. Much that Harry wants to sleep, he doesn't. He goes back to Nez Perce to deal with the wendigo, forsaking safety for the more dangerous option of Apparating directly into the creature's lair. It results in the wendigo leaping on him the instant he appears, but he simply Wishes it dead, not in the mood to deal with a fight, then puts to sleep the one human in the cave that's still alive and Apparates them to the nearest park ranger hut. Now he's catching Tyler up on everything that happened then he has one more thing to do before he goes home.

"I think so," he answers Tyler. "I prefer testing my magic first, but Gabriel hasn't come back to smite me for sending him away and I can't see why it wouldn't work."

"And now you're just waiting to make sure you haven't shut it completely before you do hell."

Harry nods, rolling an empty can of coke between his hands.

"You worried about Gabriel? In case you do have to open the gates," Tyler elaborates when Harry looks at him questioningly. "Are you worried he might take revenge?"

"Not really. He's got no right."

"Doesn't mean he won't. And with that magical high thing you were telling me about, he can decommission you just by being near you, so you wouldn't be able to fight back."

"If Death does say I have to open them again, I can force Gabriel to stay up there. He should anyway. There's been a civil war in heaven that he could have dealt with, so he should stay there and deal with it."

"How weird is that? Civil war in heaven. Not something you ever expect to hear."

Harry hums his agreement and vanishes his coke can, yawning. The problem with hunting all over the world is he inevitably ends up with an odd sleeping schedule.

"I'm headed for Marseille to see Michaela," Tyler tells him, "but I'm stopping by Verona to deal with a vamps nest there. You fancy coming? You can spend the trip sleeping."

Harry's tempted, but he shakes his head. "I'm going to England. I want to check on my family," he says when Tyler looks at him with surprise. "Make sure they're okay after the angels."

"Sure. I hope they're alright. Call me if you want to hook up again."

* * *

Harry visits 11 Benedict Way first, where he stands outside and looks through the house with a frown. Hermione is awake, in Cailean's bedroom and perched on the boy's bed while a older woman is just leaving two-year-old Sabrina's room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Harry watches the woman, but she's clearly supposed to be there as she waits patiently while Hermione finishes talking to Cailean and then kisses her on the cheek before Hermione hurries downstairs and floos out of the house. Harry watches for a bit longer, but the stranger merely goes downstairs and settles on the sofa with a blanket and the TV on.

He goes to Malfoy Manor next, but it's empty except for a sleeping house elf—the same one, Harry thinks, that used to be in the house where the demon found Lucius hiding. Thinking for a minute, he then Apparates to Grimmauld Place. Narcissa, Nero, and Vega are all asleep, but there's no sign of Draco. Trying not to panic, thinking of all the innocuous reasons Draco might be away from home at three o'clock in the morning, he returns to Malfoy Manor with the vague idea of waiting for Draco to return. He lingers in the drawing room for ten minutes at first, but being there and doing nothing gives him uncomfortable memories about his time in the Manor as a prisoner and he decides to investigate the rest of the house, thinking to distract himself and maybe find a clue as to where Draco might be. He feels only slightly guilty as he goes to the study and starts to look through Draco's things, but he finds books on healing and related subjects on the shelves and a shift rotation timetable for Saint Mungo's on the wall. It doesn't say Draco's supposed to be working right now, but it's the best lead he's got and he's just about to leave when he notices the half written letter on the desk.

_6th June 2015_

_Harry,_

_Every time I tell myself I won't write another letter to you, I always end up doing it anyway. Don't expect this one to be long; it's just after midnight and I've only just got off a double shift. I'm shattered. Watching an eight year old die from heart failure is not how I wanted to spend my 27th/35th birthday._

_Anyway, I just want to say_

That's all there is. He's curious about what Draco wanted to say, but he's more curious about the first sentence. He glances around, thinks about leaving without investigating, but gives into his temptations and starts looking for any more letters. It doesn't take long. They're in a locked drawer on the desk, over twenty envelopes with his name on. Without thinking about it, he takes them, stuffs them in his backpack, and leaves for Saint Mungo's.

He arrives to find the hospital swarming with patients and staff, despite the late hour, and it takes him less than a minute to find out why—several people have been injured as a result of the fallen angels. Although the reason for the sudden collapse of a number of witches and wizards remains unknown, and will continue that way now that it's gone without explanation, there are still injuries to deal with as a result. Fourteen people, Harry learns, have been admitted after falling off their brooms during a game of night Quidditch and there are some people who are severely injured because they were brewing potions at the time.

He finds Draco in a bathroom on the fourth floor, bent over a sink and clearly tired and trying to get a moment's rest, but he at least looks unharmed. Harry considers going in and speaking to him, just for a moment, but he's not sure he should. It's been two years since they've seen each other and showing himself while Draco's clearly worn off his feet isn't a good idea, he realises. He'll just be a distraction from Draco's work and they won't be able to properly talk.

So he just watches for a few minutes until Draco splashes water on his face, scowls at his reflection and runs his hands through his hair, then takes a deep breath, straightens his robes, and leaves the bathroom. He almost walks into Harry, who's Wished his entire appearance to look different rather than just changing his hair and eye colour, and hurriedly apologises with only a brief glance at him before hurrying on his way. Harry watches him disappear around a corner, but continues to watch through walls until Draco's too far away for even Harry's magical eye to see him.

* * *

Although he's tired, he doesn't sleep when he goes to Gabriel's flat after leaving Saint Mungo's, mind too fixated on the letters in his backpack. He digs them out and opens them, finding each one dated and puts them in the right order before he reads them.

It takes him a while to finish. Some are barely a few sentences while others span pages, but every one of them fills him with overwhelming emotions. He smiles at the dry renditions of Vega's misbehaviour, winces at embarrassing and disgusting tales of working in Saint Mungo's, and his heart breaks at every _Love, Draco_ at the end. Mostly, though, he cries—with guilt when Draco writes angrily, damning Harry for causing him pain with his various actions and his absence; with regret when Draco writes about missing Harry and wishing his was there with him; with empathy and pity when Draco writes about his paranoia and anxiety of demons; with self-hatred and jealousy when Draco twice mentions other men he's had one time hooks ups with for the sole reason of trying to forget his feelings for Harry.

Eventually sheer exhaustion knocks him out and he doesn't wake again until after two in the afternoon, the letters still surrounding him and one sticking to his face. Unwilling to deal with the emotions again just then, he takes a long shower, puts on some clean clothes, and then inspects the kitchen cupboards for food. Gabriel charmed them and the fridge to provide whatever the person wants, whether they know what they want or not, and Harry's glad to find that the charm hasn't worn off with Gabriel now in heaven. He gladly takes the chocolate fudge cake he finds, ignoring the fact that he should probably eat a proper meal, and heats it up in the microwave then takes it through to the living room, curling up on the sofa to watch TV while he eats.

The daytime TV doesn't keep his attention though. He considers the flat as he sits there, wondering if he can claim it for his own now, although half of him is tempted to destroy the entire place, just to get back at Gabriel for using him. He doesn't; it seems wasteful to destroy a good flat, but he's also a little guilty, not sure he really has a right to be angry at Gabriel. So what if he trained Harry as a hunter to make him a soldier; it's not like Harry has anything better to do with his life and he _does_ help people by saving them from demons and monsters. Can he really complain about Gabriel's ulterior motives, which haven't even had any effects on him as far as Harry can tell, when Gabriel did so much for Harry?

It's almost sunset before he finally returns to the letters. He reads all of them again and this time the guilt is the most predominant thing he feels, guilt for making Draco worry, for bringing him so much pain from his faked death and being the reason Sebastian was possessed, for making Draco doubt his own feelings towards Harry. He half regrets taking the letters in the first place, ashamed of reading words that Draco clearly never meant for Harry to ever see. He's got about thirty similar letters in his own bag, over half of them containing things he doesn't want Draco to know, and he knows he wouldn't like it if Draco stole those from him. It's too late to do anything about it now though. He knows and he has to decide what to do about it.

A tapping at the window draws his attention and he looks up to see a large eagle owl outside. His blood seems to run cold at the sight of it because it's the same owl that brought him the letter informing him of James and Snape's deaths. His hands shake as he goes over and opens the window, making it difficult to untie the string holding the letter. When he finally does get it off, the bird leaves without waiting for a reply and he looks down at the envelope, seeing his name written in familiar handwriting. For a long while he just stares at it, unable to make himself open it, dreading what might be inside, but eventually he does, slipping out the bit of parchment and opening it with trembling hands.

_6th June 2015_

_Harry,_

_You son of a bitch, you were here, weren't you? The letters are gone from my desk and there's no one who could have got into the Manor undetected except for you. You fucking bastard. Two years without anything from you then you creep into my home and steal from me? And don't you dare try to claim you were taking what was yours just because the letters were addressed to you. If you've read them, and I'm sure you have, you must have realised that I never wanted you to see half of them. I assume you saw the unfinished one as well; how else would you know about the ones in the desk unless you looked for them? Just so you know, I finished it. I wrote the whole thing, a full page, then sealed it and went to put it with the others when I found them gone. I'm not going to send it – in fact, I threw it in the fire, because I don't want you to see it. But I want you to see this._

_We're done. I know that 'we' aren't really anything, that there's next to nothing between us, but whatever there is, it's over. I am done with you. You have caused me so much shit over the last few years; I'm sick of it. I'm sick of loving you and hating you, of wanting you here and never wanting to see you again. I've had enough and knowing that you were here and never even showed yourself to me – that's the last straw._

_So this is it. I'm moving on from you, Harry. I will make myself move on; I need to forget you. This is the last letter I will ever write you, sent or unsent._

_Draco._

Harry's heart breaks with the smash of window glass, the crackle of surging electricity blowing out the lightbulbs, the crash of the Blu-Ray player exploding, and finally with darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much do you hate me now?


	9. Chapter 8

Harry wakes with glass embedded in his skin and the immediate knowledge of why he's on the floor surrounded by the destroyed remains of the sitting room. He doesn't move, just lies on the floor with blood dripping down his skin and glass digging into his back while he stares at the ceiling. He doesn't cry. A curious numbness seems to spread through him, making the sting of his injuries seem unimportant and the blood loss merely something he vaguely notices. His whole body seems to weigh down like gravity has increased and taken away his ability to move. His brain is unable to do anything but repeat six words over and over: _I'm moving on from you, Harry._

He's not sure how long he lies there before he hears the trill sound of his mobile ringing. He listens to it for twenty seconds then it goes silent, but less than a minute later he gets a text message. He still doesn't move. Two minutes later it starts ringing again and he listens for another twenty seconds. Then, finally, some of the weight leaves him, just enough energy seeping into his limbs for him to lift a hand, summon the phone to him, and look at it to see two missed calls and an automated text telling him he has a new voice mail. He calls his voicemail, hits the speaker button, then drops the phone to his chest and resumes staring at the ceiling as he listens to a short message from Tyler containing only a street name in Verona and a request for Harry's help.

Something in him latches onto the possibility of a distraction and he finds more energy filling him. He sits up, listens to the message again, then gets up, spares a thought to remove the glass from his skin and heal his injuries, pick up his backpack, and then he Disapparates.

He finds Tyler sat on the kerb of a residential street, smoking a cigarette beside a payphone. He scrambles to his feet when Harry appears, looking relieved.

"Thank god."

"What's wrong?"

Tyler grimaces, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "I met a couple of chicks at a bar earlier."

Harry says nothing, waiting to hear what else he has to say.

"Thing is they weren't precisely interested in me so much as my car, my wallet, my phone, and my watch. All they left me was this cigarette."

"Oh."

"I didn't even get to have sex with them before they robbed me."

Harry has a feeling he's supposed to smile at that, maybe even laugh, but he doesn't. "You want help finding your stuff?"

"Yeah, please. All my weapons and my wand are in the car. Hey, are you okay? You seem... off."

Harry opens his mouth, realises he has no idea what to say to succinctly tell what happened even if he wanted to, and shakes his head. "I'm fine," he lies, and sets his attention to figuring out how to find Tyler's car. Apparating straight to it is risky; it may be moving or somewhere with a lot of people who'll make even Apparating invisibly less than ideal. The same problem applies to Wishing the car directly to him. If he knew who the women were, he could Wish to look through their eyes to see if they're in or near it still, but he's not sure it'll work when he doesn't even know what they look like. He might be able to make a Tracking Arrow; he's never done it for an object rather than person, but can't think of any reason why it shouldn't work.

"Do you know your license plate?" he asks Tyler, shrugging off his backpack to dig through it for one of several pre-made paper arrows and a handful of ballpoint pens, one of which has a sticker on it with 'Int. Ink' written on it. Carrying around quills and ink bottles is troublesome so he filled a few empty ballpoints with Interactive Ink. He takes one and an arrow and scribbles down the license plate that Tyler rattles off.

"That's pretty clever," Tyler remarks when Harry makes a Wish and the arrow points east, the numbers on it telling them the car is thirty miles away and stationary. "But how are we getting to it?"

"We could fly."

"There's two problems with that," Tyler says. "Firstly, we have no brooms, and secondly, even if we did, I will throw up when we've gone thirty feet, let alone thirty miles."

"I don't need a broom to fly, but I don't have a solution to the sickness problem."

"Why not Apparate?"

Harry shakes his head and explains his reasoning against it, then suggests, "I could fly there myself, check if it's clear, then Apparate you there."

"Probably our best bet. How long will it take you to fly thirty miles?"

"An hour or so maybe."

"Alright. I'm going to be at that pub down the road so I can at least be warm while I wait; middle of bloody summer in Italy, you think the weather could at least be decent. Come get me when you've found it."

Harry nods, pulling out his own wallet and handing Tyler a few Euros. "Buy yourself a drink, and don't go off with any strangers this time."

* * *

He finds Tyler's car parked on a residential street in Vicenza. There's no one around, but when he goes back for Tyler he still Apparates them invisibly just in case someone is looking out the windows of one of the houses. Tyler throws up the moment they appear.

"Beer didn't taste half as good coming up as it did going down," he groans when he's finished, accepting a tissue from Harry and wiping his mouth.

Harry unlocks the car for him with a Wish and Tyler checks it to see what's missing. All his weapons are still in the hidden compartment under the back seat and his wand is still in the glove box, but there's no sign of his phone, wallet, or keys.

"Bollocks. I don't suppose there's any way you can get my keys back at least?"

Harry considers it, glancing around. "You think that if the car is here, then the women who took it are in one of these houses?"

"Maybe," Tyler says, sitting in the passenger seat with his legs out the side and looking around at the nearest houses. "Can't you just... make them appear?"

"Yes, but if they're looking at the keys they'll notice them vanishing. Breaks the International Statute of Secrecy."

"Unless they just think they've gone mad," Tyler suggests. "I don't think the average Muggle's first thought when something weird happens is witchcraft."

"I guess." He makes a Wish and phone, wallet, and car keys appear on the driver's seat. Tyler swivels, snatching them up and checking the wallet. His cash and credit cards are gone, but he remorselessly admits to Harry that the cards are all under fake names anyway and then digs a hundred Euros from a lock box under his back seat.

"Just have to sleep in the car for a few nights until I can scrounge up some more," he says, counting it and frowning. "Especially if I want to keep petrol in this thing."

"I can give you another hundred," Harry offers. "Maybe one-fifty. I'm not sure how much I've got."

"It's fine, I'll manage. I've done it before."

"I don't mind," Harry insists. "I can use Gabriel's flat whenever I want and his cupboards stock themselves with food, so it doesn't matter if I don't have any money."

"You sure about that?"

Harry nods, swinging his backpack around to pull out a jar filled with notes and coins, handing it over.

"Harry—"

"Take it. I've still got a bit of cash in my wallet anyway, so it's fine. Really."

Tyler nods, standing up and leaning in to kiss Harry briefly. "Thanks, Harry. I really appreciate it."

"Do you kiss everyone as thanks?"

"Pretty much. I like kissing, but if it bothers you I won't in future."

"I don't mind. I just wondered."

"Kissing is good. People should do it more, but it is one thing I like about mainland Europe. You kiss someone in England and they make a big deal out of it, but over here they kiss each other all the time just to say hello."

"Yeah, but that's just on the cheek," Harry points out.

"Still better than England," Tyler responds with a shrug, looking down at the watch once again gracing his wrist. It doesn't look that fancy to Harry, but perhaps the two thieves didn't care how much their booty was worth. "It must be nearly time for you to deal with demons and hell," he remarks.

Harry nods. "I'll probably go soon."

"Can I come? Well you're going to see Crowley, the King of Hell, right?" he elaborates when Harry looks at him questioningly. "Might be kind of cool to see him before you send him and the rest to hell."

"You think it would be cool to meet the King of Hell?"

Tyler shrugs. "Sure, why not? You did say those two American hunters had him tied up and stuff."

"Assuming they haven't killed him, I suppose."

"You can't kill demons."

"They have a special knife that does."

"Seriously?"

"I've seen it, when I was possessed. They killed this demon with it as easy as if he was pure human."

"Whoa. Useful."

"Not for much longer," Harry counters. "Not if I get rid of all the demons."

"Let's hope you do," Tyler agrees. "So... Apparating, I guess?"

Once again Harry thinks he's supposed to smile at his unenthusiastic question, but nothing in him wants to smile so he just shrugs. "'Fraid so. Do you want to move your car somewhere else first?"

"Yeah. Hop in, I know a guy back in Verona who'll watch it for me for a bit."

* * *

"You okay?"

Tyler groans, spitting on the ground and straightening up. "Hate Apparating," he grumbles. "You got any water?"

Harry nods, pulling a bottle from his backpack and handing it over. They're outside the abandoned church where Harry found Sam and Dean after the angels fell, but neither the brothers, their car, Castiel, or Crowley are there.

"So where's the esteemed king?" Tyler asks when he's washed his mouth out and gulped down some water.

"I don't know. They were here before."

"There's a car coming," Tyler points out. "That might be them."

It is, the same Chevy Impala Harry saw before eventually coming to a halt just in front of the church, Dean and Sam getting out of the front and Castiel from the back. Crowley is in the trunk, Harry can see, but they don't let him out.

"Nice car," Tyler remarks, looking it over. Dean shoots him an appreciative glance.

"Thanks. Who are you?"

"Tyler Lyle, friend of Harry's."

"I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam. That's Cas."

"Huh. I thought you would be the fallen angel."

"Why?"

"You're the prettiest," Tyler replies simply, earning a startled look from Dean. "So where's Crowley?"

"He's in the trunk," Harry answers. Dean looks at him and he shrugs. "I did tell you I can see through things. Are you going to let him out or do you want me to do it while he's still in there?"

"First we want to make sure you're not possessed," Sam says, hands in his pockets. "Both of you."

Harry lifts his sleeve, showing the undamaged anti-possession tattoo on his arm. It satisfies Sam, who flicks his gaze to Tyler. Tyler tosses his water bottle to Harry then turns around and jerks his trousers down to show the tattoo on his right buttock.

"I've got one too."

"Interesting place," Sam says with faint amusement as Tyler pulls his trousers back up. Dean looks like he wants to complain and Harry's not sure if it's about Tyler's choice of location or brazen display of his own arse.

"What about you three?" Tyler asks. "Prove you're not possessed."

Sam and Dean tug their collars down almost simultaneously, showing the tattoos just under their collarbones, but Castiel glance between them all then says, "I don't have one."

"He's not possessed," Harry says, feeling the fallen angel with his magic. "I can tell. Are you going to get Crowley out now or do you want to spend more time being unnecessarily suspicious of me like you were earlier?"

"Open the trunk," Sam says quietly to Dean. "We already know he banished the angels and you heard everything Cas told us."

"What did you tell them?" Harry asks Castiel suspiciously as Dean moves to the trunk of the car.

"That if anyone can close the gates of heaven and hell without trials, it's you. You are the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth."

"Oh."

"Huh," Tyler says, moving to stand beside Dean and looking into the trunk at Crowley, who not only has a piece of duct tape across his mouth and pair of handcuffs on his wrists, but a thick metal collar etched with devil's traps and demon repelling sigils padlocked around his throat. "I thought he'd be taller. And more evil looking. He looks... normal."

"Trust me, he's an evil son of a bitch," Dean assures him. "Come on out, Crowley. Time you went home."

Crowley glowers at him, but has no choice but to move along when Dean hauls him out and starts shoving him towards the abandoned church, where a devil's trap is still painted on the floor, part of it scratched away and a chair at its centre and a length of chain attached to the floor, which Dean hooks onto Crowley's collar when they've sat him in the chair.

"Wow, you guys don't do anything by half, do you?" Tyler remarks as Sam takes a can of spray paint from a duffel bag he took from the car and repaints the part of the trap scratched away.

"Not for the King of Hell," he agrees then rips the tape off Crowley's mouth.

"Ow. You could have been a bit gentler, moose."

"Bite me, Crowley."

"You hit me last time I did that."

Sam scowls at him, walking out of the devil's trap to stand beside Dean, who looks at Crowley with a smug expression.

"Harry here is gong to send your ass on a one way trip to hell, scumbag. Any last words?"

"Yes, actually," Crowley says, gaze shifting to Harry. "If you send me to hell, you'll never find out where your daughter is."

Four pairs of eyes fix on Harry, who glares at Crowley. "I don't have a daughter."

"Sure about that?"

"Yes. I've never even had sex with—" He breaks off, remembering that he has had sex with a woman, at least technically. Crowley smiles.

"With a woman?" he asks. "Well, if you want to be rude then I suppose you can say she's not a woman, but she's in the body of one."

"Harry?" Tyler asks quietly. Harry doesn't look at him.

"You're lying."

"Am I? Send me to hell and you'll never know."

"Demons can't have babies."

"Actually they can," Castiel says at the same moment Tyler asks, "You had sex with a demon?"

"I didn't," Harry replies to Tyler, at little more harshly than he intends. "It wasn't—I was possessed. It wasn't me."

"Your body," Crowley says. "Your DNA, which means the girl is your daughter."

"You're lying!" Harry yells. "You're lying, I don't—I'm sending you back to hell. You can't stop me by telling lies."

"Why would I lie when the truth is much worse, Harry? I heard it straight from the mother whore herself."

Sam's brow furrows at that, then straightens out as he looks at Harry with wide eyes. "He's talking about Meg, isn't he? When you were possessed, the demon said you and her had sex. Meg is the mother of your—"

"She's not!" Harry interrupts. "She's not, she didn't—I'm not a dad! I can't be! He's lying!"

"Why don't you Apparate this Meg here?" Tyler suggests. "Ask her yourself."

"She's dead," Sam tells them. "Crowley—"

He breaks off, staring at the floor as a woman appears just inside the devil's trap, her wrists tied with rope. She lifts her head with obvious effort to look at them, showing a black eye, split lip, and bloody nose.

"Bollocks," Crowley says.

"Christ," Tyler mutters, and Meg's eyes turned black as they flick to him. In his chair, Crowley's turn red. "Someone really worked one over on you."

"But we saw you kill her," Dean says to Crowley.

"You saw me stab her. The little whore is annoyingly resilient, but it at least gave me time to find out about her baby girl."

Meg blinks and her eyes turn back to a normal brown, focusing on Castiel. "You're human," she says with disbelief. Castiel looks away, clearing his throat.

"Yes," he says reluctantly.

Meg's tone is almost demanding. "How?"

When Castiel shows no inclination to answer, Dean speaks. "That's none of your business. It's not why we brought you here."

Meg scoffs. "You? You didn't bring me here, Winchester. _He_ did." She fixes her attention on Harry, smiling bloodily. "Last time I saw you, you were possessed. And less fit. You look good."

Harry says nothing, just stares at her.

"He wants to know about your daughter," Crowley says from behind Meg, his own eyes back to normal again. "He won't believe me."

Meg laughs, though it quickly gives way to coughing. "Who would?" she says when she can speak again, looking around at him disdainfully. "For that matter, why did you even believe me?"

Doubt creeps into Crowley's expression. Hope flicker's across Harry's.

"You wouldn't lie to me," Crowley says, but his tone isn't as confident as it was a minute before. "Not after everything I did to you."

"Sure about that?" Meg asks him. "You know, sometimes when you torture a person too much they start telling you anything they think you want to hear. And a half-demon child with Harry Evans as the father? I knew you'd jump on that."

Crowley's smugness fades.

"Then you were lying?" Harry says finally. "You didn't have a kid after the demon in me... you know...?"

"Had really bad sex?" she asks, smirking when a flush fills his cheeks, but she doesn't answer the question, instead looking around at them all. "What's going on here anyway?"

Tyler frowns. "Hang on a sec, if you're a demon and Harry was possessed when you fucked, doesn't that make it a full demon child?"

"We're still in humans," Meg points out. "That makes it half human. Now what's going on?"

"Harry there wants to send us all back to hell," Crowley answers her. "Then shut the gates behind us, permanently. He's already done it to heaven."

"Oh," Meg says nervously. "In that case, it's possible I did have a brat and it's possible it is yours, if we can come to an arrangement about not including me in this plan."

"You're lying," Harry says. "Just like him. You just want me to not send you to hell."

"Eighth of October," Meg says hurriedly. "Two thousand twelve."

"What?"

"That's when she was born. Forty weeks to the day after we had sex."

Harry shakes his head and even takes a step back. "You're lying."

"I'm not. Let me stay on earth and I'll tell you where she was born. You can go looking for her."

"If she's real, just tell him where she is right now," Tyler says. Meg shoots him a dirty look.

"You think I actually raised the little brat? She was lucky I even got as far as giving birth to her. Once she was out, I dumped her on a church doorstep and walked away without looking back."

"Wait, a demon left their kid at a church?" Sam asks doubtfully.

"What can I say, I liked the irony."

"You're still lying," Harry says.

"I'm not, I swear to you."

"Even if you did have a kid, it's not mine. Not necessarily. It could be anyone's. You slept with the demon easily enough, you probably slept with other people too."

"She _is_ a whore," Crowley comments.

"Shut up," Harry snaps at him.

"I haven't actually slept with half as many people as you seem to think," Meg says to Crowley.

"Doesn't matter if you did," Tyler remarks. "I mean, nothing demonic about having a lot of sex. It's not like it's a bad thing."

Meg smiles at him. "Thank you. See, he knows what's up."

"Doesn't solve the issue of the kid though," Sam points out. Dean turns to Harry.

"If this kid exists, can't you make it appear like you did with Meg?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because... it's dangerous," he says, refusing to admit that he thinks it's entirely possible, but he's scared if he Wishes for 'my daughter' then a little girl will appear and he's not ready to deal with that. "Moving a kid that young like that could be dangerous."

"It's basically Apparition, isn't it?" Tyler asks him, and Harry nods. "She said the kid was born October twenty-twelve, so she's nearly three. That's old enough for side-along apparition, by UK recommendations. They say no younger than eighteen months, so it should be safe."

"I still can't do it," Harry insists. "I don't know her name or what she looks like—and she could be with someone! If she was left at a church than she was probably adopted or something. She'll have a family so I can't just make her disappear because they'll worry, and besides, it's not like the kid would know if..." He trails off, unable to say the words 'I'm her dad'.

"He has a point," Castiel says. "Even if the child is his, she may have been adopted and she wouldn't know that he's her father even if she knows she's adopted."

"Okay, but you have to find out, right?" Dean says to Harry. "I mean, you could have a daughter out there. Don't you want to know?"

Harry's not sure he does. Being a father is something he's not wanted since finding out his own parentage. Even before then it was only something he vaguely considered as a possibility he might like if he had the chance to grow up, but never seriously thought about because he expected to die. After finding out about Snape, he swore he'd never have any children no matter what because he didn't want to be as bad of a father as Snape was.

Now he may have lost the choice. Or at least, the choice to have a child, and as he stands there, everyone's gaze on him, he knows that he's not going to be able to ignore the possibility. It will eat at him until he confirms Meg's story and then, if she's telling the truth, confirms if the little girl is his. And if there is a child with his DNA... he'll have to know if they're safe and happy. Maybe there is and she's been adopted; just because he's a father doesn't mean he has to be a dad. If the child is happily settled with a loving family...

"Where did you leave her?" he asks Meg. "Where was the church?"

"Let me out of the trap and promise I won't be included when you close hell," she replies.

"Yes," Crowley agrees. "Promise her, Harry. Doesn't matter if he does," he adds when everyone looks at him weirdly. "Harry never keeps a deal with demons. He's a slippery little worm, aren't you, Harry?"

"Wait, that's a good point," Meg says. "Everyone knows you escaped paying your deal with Crowley when you were a kid. I'm not telling you anything until I get some definite assurance that I won't go to hell."

"You got out of paying a demon deal?" Tyler asks Harry. "When? What did you make a deal for?"

"My magic," Harry mutters. "I made a deal with him when I was a kid for my magic."

"For... Jesus Christ, you were a _squib_ before?"

"What? No. I was just a normal wizard, then I made my deal and I got more power."

"And got out of paying? How?"

Harry squirms uncomfortably under the attention on him. "You know I was possessed by Voldemort? Well some of his soul was in me ever since he tried to kill me as a baby, so he was in me when I made my deal, which means that when Dad used the Killing Curse on me in ninety-seven it was acceptable for his soul to pay the debt instead of mine."

Tyler shakes his head, expression incredulous. "You are... I don't even know what."

"Bloody annoying, that's what," Crowley says. "I know demons more reliable than him when it comes to keeping their words. In fact the only person who's screwed me worse than Harry is Castiel."

Castiel's expression is completely clear of guilt. "I shouldn't have dealt with you in the first place."

Dean steps forward. "Nevermind all that. What are you going to do about the kid and sending the demons to hell?" he asks Harry, who glances around at them all then looks down at Meg.

"Tell me where you left your daughter," he demands with Wish magic and his breath hitches when she answers.

"Flinders Street Baptist church, Adelaide, Australia."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Dean demands.

"I made her," Harry says shakily. "I made her. She can't—she can't lie."

"We still don't know it's yours," Sam points out quietly. "What do we do now? It'll take a day, at least, before you can get to Australia to talk to the church. I doubt they'll give out information on an abandoned baby over the phone or even through email, not to mention paternity testing... this isn't something that you're going to be able to figure out quickly."

"Actually," Tyler says, drawing Harry's attention, "Michaela's not bad at potions. She can probably brew you a Paternity Potion. Or she won't mind buying one."

"Are we supposed to just leave these two tied up or locked in the trunk while you go off?" Dean asks.

"There's no reason he can't send all of the demons to hell before searching for his daughter," Castiel suggests, and then everyone looks at Harry when he suddenly stalks out of the church, throwing the doors open and slamming them shut behind him.

* * *

Tyler finds him crouched by the Impala, leaning against the car with Kiwi hugged to his chest and his face buried in the bear's fur. Tyler crouches down beside him.

"You okay?"

"No."

Tyler digs in his pocket for a box of cigarettes and a lighter. "Want a fag?"

"I don't smoke."

Tyler shrugs, lighting one up for himself. "Maybe you should start. Might help you feel better."

"It gives you cancer and... stuff."

Tyler snorts. "Yeah. Well. What are you going to do about the kid?"

"I don't know."

"That Cas bloke has a point. There's no reason you can't send the demons to hell then go and investigate. Maybe keep behind Meg in case you need her for more information or something then send her on later."

Harry doesn't answer immediately and Tyler takes a long drag from the cigarette, holding the smoke in before slowly letting it out through his nose. Only when he's taken another drag does Harry ask quietly, "You think I should? Send Meg to hell?"

"She is a demon."

"She's... that girl's mother."

"She abandoned the kid at a church and said herself that the girl is lucky she even gave birth to it. She's not a mother. She's just someone who happened to pop a kid out of her vagina."

"That's vulgar."

"That's true. Mums look after their kids and that woman in there is a demon. She's probably not even capable of being a mum and looking after a kid. Not the kind of mum anyone would want, anyway."

Harry lifts his head, sighing heavily and staring across the field in front of them. "I guess, maybe. Not like I know what mum's are meant to be like."

Tyler glances at him, finishing his cigarette and flicking the butt away. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. What you said, I guess. I have to find out, don't I? If she's really..."

"Yours? Sam's right; it won't be simple. Even with a Paternity Potion instead of Muggle tests, you've got to find her, convince her caretakers you're not some creep trying to steal children's blood, and figure out what you're going to do even if she is yours."

"Nothing," Harry answers immediately. "Not if she's with a family and safe and happy. I won't take her from that."

"And if she's not safe and happy?"

Harry rests his chin on Kiwi's head. "No choice, do I? I can't be like my dad and leave her. I'd have to take her away and find her a new family."

Tyler looks at him in surprise. "A new family? You wouldn't raise her yourself?"

Harry laughs dryly. "Yeah, because I'd be such a great father."

"You don't know you wouldn't be."

"I don't know anything about being a dad."

"No one does, not really. You just have to do your best and hope they turn out alright."

"Finding her a nice family is my best."

"No, that's running away. It's passing the responsibility on to someone else."

"Which is the best thing I can do!" Harry insists. "How could I be a dad when mine left me with abusive relatives for most of my childhood, and had no intention of ever even telling me he was my dad if the man I thought was my dad had actually been dead? It's not exactly a model I can take after."

"Seriously? Snape did that?"

Harry nods.

"Christ. You know, I've never actually asked, but when did you find out Snape was your dad?"

"After the Triwizard Tournament. They found out about James being alive and Snape only told me then because he knew he couldn't keep it secret any longer."

"Wow. That's a bit of arseholish thing to do. At least my dad didn't even know I existed. But getting back on topic—it doesn't mean you can't be a decent dad just because yours wasn't. Haven't you seen any decent dads?" he adds when Harry looks at him doubtfully. "A friend's? Someone on TV or in a book? Our own parents aren't the only ones we can learn from, you know. I mean, if I learnt from my dad, all I'd know is how to be absent."

"But you had Marcus."

"He was absent a lot as well to be honest. I'm not dissing him—Marcus was great and I loved him, but I still looked after myself a lot after he adopted me. Head of the Department of Mysteries is a busy job."

"I guess."

"So you could look after the kid, if she's yours."

Harry shrugs. "Even if I could be a good dad, it's not safe. I hunt demons for a living, I'm legally dead, and if I wasn't then I'm supposed to be in prison."

"I can't say much for the dead and prison thing, but you're going to send all demons to hell, so that takes care of that bit. Maybe it'd do you good to settle down, get a normal job somewhere that isn't in England, and raise the kid. Hell, maybe you could even find someone to settle down with, raise her together."

Harry's mind goes instantly to Draco and then violently forces himself away from it. He won't think about him. He can't, not right now.

He's saved from having to say anything by the church doors opening and Sam stepping out, and Harry hurriedly shoves Kiwi into his backpack as the other man comes over.

"Hey, so, uh... Dean and I were talking. We've got somewhere we can take Meg and hold her for a while. Are you still going to banish the rest of the demons to hell?"

Harry glances at Tyler, sighs, and gets to his feet. "Yes. Are you sure you can hold Meg?"

"Yeah, it's no problem. You got a cell? I can give you my number."

"Cell?" Harry repeats, confused, and Tyler nudges him.

"He means your mobile. They call them cell phones over here."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I've got one."

They exchange numbers then head back into the church. Sam scrubs clear a bit of the edge of the devil's trap and pulls Meg out, then Dean repaints it. Crowley looks between them all, eventually focusing on Harry.

"You'll regret this."

"There's a lot of things I regret, but sending all demons to hell? I won't regret that."

He makes the Wish silently, demanding that every demon on earth except for Meg leave their human hosts and return to hell, then closing the gates to them but not other beings. He's surprised to see red smoke instead of black come pouring out of Crowley's mouth and then hurtle into the ground. When it's done, his host body slumps in the chair, dead.

* * *

"You owe me big time."

Tyler smiles at his cousin, accepting a joint from her and inhaling deeply, relaxing into the comfy sofa in her large apartment. Michaela Creevey sits beside him, multi-coloured hair pulled into a messy ponytail and dressed in baggy Muggle clothes.

"I mean it. I've got Harry bloody Evans asleep in my sitting room, Ty. Harry. Evans."

"I know that, Micky."

"Don't call me that."

"Don't call me Ty."

"What the hell are you thinking? The guy's supposed to be dead. Or in prison! I'm a Ministry employee and I'm housing an escaped convict. He's a murderer."

"So am I."

"You kill monsters. He's killed people."

"Because a monster made him. Maybe not a monster-monster, but Voldemort was worse than some of the things I've killed."

She takes the joint back from him and they sit in silence for a while, smoking, drinking Butterbeers, and listening to the radio playing quietly. It's six o'clock in the morning, too early for Michaela to visit Marseille's wizarding street to buy a Paternity Potion for Harry, so they're just killing time until the shops open.

Michaela's the one to speak first, gaze on Tyler while his gaze is on Harry's sleeping form. "You in love with him?"

Tyler shrugs. "Don't think it's that bad."

"You asked him out?"

"He's asexual."

"So? You're the one that told me ace's can still date people. Hell, he went out with Draco Malfoy when you were teens, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure they hardly fucked and I like sex too much to get in a steady relationship with someone who's hardly interested in it. I'll move on, find someone else."

"Sleep around like always, you mean."

Tyler shrugs. Michaela shakes her head.

"So what's the deal with this possible kid of his then? Is it like a super kid, d'you reckon?"

He snorts. "I don't know. Maybe. Can you imagine a two year old with his kind of power?"

"Imagine the tantrums when they don't get what they want."

"I'd rather not," Tyler replies dryly. "Speaking of kids, how's Dennis and Layla's demon spawn?"

"Redefining 'terrible twos' to include the entire childhood. The kid's a brat; they spoil him too much. Cid and Autumn are expecting now though."

"Yeah? Here's hoping they do a better job as parents than Layla and Dennis," he says, lifting his butterbeer in a toast. "Even if the kid's first word will probably be 'shit'."

* * *

It's after five in the evening local time by the time Harry and Tyler, because Harry doesn't want to go alone, reach Australia, and it takes them four hours to find Meg's daughter. Finding a priest at the Flinders Street Baptist church who knows about the child left on their doorstep and magically coercing him to tell them about her is easy, but they then have to hunt down the doctor who looked her over when she was taken to hospital, the police officer that handled the abandonment report, and the child services worker who handled the case, who they have to coerce into their workplace to check the records, at which point they learn that the Australian Ministry of Magic must have connections with the Muggle government because the name they get next leads them to a Ministry worker, and then they have to take _them_ into work to check the magical records before finally learning the child was adopted by Ralph and Deanna Marshall. She's named Katrina and she's also a metamorphmagus.

The Marshalls live in a small wizarding town outside of Adelaide. Their house is in the middle of the street, unlit when Harry and Tyler arrive. Tyler starts to look queasy and says he needs to sit down when they arrive, the Motion Sickness Potion Michaela provided them clearly starting to wear off after their excessive Apparating. He slumps on the garden wall of the house opposite the Marshalls while Harry crosses the street and uses his magical eye to scan the Marshall home for signs of life.

He looks in just in time to see a cloaked figure swish their wand at a woman in the master bedroom, presumably Deanna Marshall, and cleanly decapitate her with a single spell. He cries out as the woman's body falls forward, head parting from her body to roll away a few feet. A man Harry assumes is Ralph Marshall is already dead in the kitchen, similarly decapitated. Horrified, Harry sweeps his gaze over the house again, searching desperately for any sign of a child. He finds her in the nursery, tucked away in a wardrobe, knees drawn up and fist stuck in her mouth.

And the cloaked figure is making their way to that room.

Without explanation to Tyler, Harry runs to the house, letting himself in through the front door and tearing up the stairs, magic eye looking between the figure and the girl. The figure hears him coming and stops, no doubt trying to figure out how to react in the second they have before Harry reaches the top of the stairs, but Harry doesn't give them chance. He make a Wish and the figure slumps to the floor, unconscious. Without breaking stride, Harry jumps over them and rushes into the nursery.

He slows down when he's there. He can hear Katrina whimpering inside the wardrobe, the fist in her mouth doing little to muffle her scared cries. He approaches cautiously.

"Katrina?"

There's a muffled cry, but no other response.

"Katrina, my name's Harry. I'm not going to hurt you." He reaches out and takes the door handle. "I'm going to open the door now," he tells her and does so slowly.

She doesn't move, just sits shivering in the wardrobe, staring at him with big brown eyes full of fear.

"Hello," he says a little awkwardly, less sure of himself now he's actually faced with a terrified two and a half year old who may or may not be his daughter, but has just had her adopted parents killed. "I won't hurt you," he reassures her again and she takes the fist from her mouth.

"Mummy," she whimpers and he has no idea what to say to her.

He's saved from having to figure it out by the sudden noise of doors crashing open and a stern voice calls out, "South Australian Aurors! We have you surrounded! Drop your wand!"

* * *

The chair in interview room three at the Adelaide Aurors offices is extraordinarily uncomfortable, especially after sitting in it for several hours. Harry sighs and squirms again, wondering when Auror Bishop is going to come back to continue the interrogation, and how Tyler is faring, and whether Katrina is alright. He still doesn't know if she's his daughter.

He's been mostly honest with Auror Bishop, keeping his identity secret but telling her that he went to the house in search of his possible daughter and found the Marshalls murdered. He does lie about how he knew where to look for Katrina; he tells Bishop that Meg kept in contact with the Marshalls after Katrina's birth and told Harry about her on her death bed. Despite having the cloaked figure in custody, they're still suspicious off him, which he doesn't understand until he learns that this is the latest in a string of murders across all of Australia where wizards are killed and their young children kidnapped. Thus far, they've had absolutely no leads on the person responsible nor any clue to the location of the missing children. Now they're determined to make sure that Harry isn't helping the Marshalls' murderer and trying to secret Katrina away to wherever the rest of the children are.

Not that Harry's entirely sure he does want to take her even if she is his daughter. He still doesn't think he's fit to be a parent and he can always leave her to be taken in by the Marshalls' relatives, or put into foster care, or even get adopted by a new family, but even as he thinks it the thought makes him sick. Personal experience makes him wary of leaving the child with other relations, even when he tries to convince himself that the Marshalls' parents or siblings, if they have any, are likely better care givers than the Dursleys were. Letting Katrina be taken by strangers is even riskier and every time he imagines it, his mind keeps drifting back to the same thing: Snape.

Harry complained enough in his life about Snape never looking after him, but now he's doing the same thing, willing to abandon his daughter—potential daughter, he reminds himself—to the care of strangers. As her father— _if_ he's her father—isn't it his obligation to look after her first and foremost, even if he thinks he'll be no good at it? That's the same reason Snape gave—he didn't think he could be a decent father so he never tried, and Harry resented him for it.

The interrogation room door opens and he looks up at Bishop. She carries a vial of clear liquid with a coil of red inside it and sets it in the middle of the table before sitting down in the chair opposite Harry.

"We've interrogated Judy Hancock with Veritaserum," Bishop tells him. "Between her testimony, yours, and that of your friend, we believe your story. You won't be charged with anything, Mr Prince."

Harry nods. Bishop draws a small knife from her pocket and lays it beside the vial on the table.

"This is a Paternity Potion, as I'm sure you've realised. The blood in it is Kitty's. You just need to add three drops of your own to find out if you are her father."

"Kitty? Is that what she prefers?" he asks, stalling.

"It's what she calls herself."

He nods again. His hand shakes slightly as he reaches for the knife and he hesitates before pricking his thumb with it. He uncorks it, holds his thumb over the neck, and lets three drops of blood spill down into the liquid.

"You need to give it a shake."

He picks it up, swirls it a couple of times, then sets it down as the two sets of blood mingle and spread, turning the entire potion the colour and consistency of blood.

"Congratulations," Bishop says. "You're a father."

Harry faints.


	10. Chapter 9

Even with his paternity confirmed, Harry isn't allowed to just walk out with Kitty. He has to meet her first and gets the uncomfortable task of explaining how he's her father when she's already got one. At the advice of a child services worker, he keeps it simple and tells her that he's her father but was sick when she was born so gave her to the Marshalls to look after. He doesn't really consider it a lie, precisely; given his state of mind at the time of her birth, sick is an accurate term and he certainly wasn't in any state to have cared for a child then. Had he known about her at the time of birth, he probably would have done what Meg did, although he would have made sure she was safe rather than simply leaving her on the doorstep of a church. Kitty seems to accepts the story calmly enough and doesn't object to the suggestion of him looking after her now the Marshalls are dead.

He then meets with the elderly Muggle parents of Deanna Marshall and for a terrifying minute thinks that he's going to have to give Kitty up to them. His relief when they say they're too old to look after a two year old and are happy for Harry to take her is like a punch to the gut as he realises that despite all his reservations, he wants to take Kitty. He doesn't want to leave her to someone else's care, and not just because he doesn't want to take after Snape. He genuinely wants to look after her himself.

Even then he's not allowed to go before convincing the Aurors that he's got a permanent residence and the means of taking care of a child. That does give him pause, because of course he doesn't, not really, but some Wishing makes them believe he does. He doubts himself when he does it, wondering if he should find a place to live that isn't Gabriel's one bedroom flat and find himself a real job, but he gets scared that if he doesn't take her now, he'll lose her for good.

He also has to spend a couple of hours with a psychologist listening to how the Marshalls' murder is likely to affect Kitty and what he should expect and how to deal with it. That makes him question his decision more than anything, but a glimpse of Kitty and remembering that he had no one after his own childhood trauma is enough to steel his resolve. Kitty wouldn't be abandoned by her father the way he was.

Then he has to deal with the Aurors wanting him to stand witness at Judy Hancock's trial. He doesn't see why that's necessary when they have a confession and they finally find the missing children, all six of them alive. Harry really doesn't want to endure the trouble of a trial given that he's pretending to be someone he's not and technically a fugitive; the idea of standing in a courtroom seems very bad, even if he's there as witness instead of the one on trial. He Wishes for them to change their minds and just hopes that when the case does come to trial, the judge doesn't decide he needs calling in, and if they do then all their attempts to find him will fail. He expects they will; with a false name, appearance, and no actual address to find him at, he can't imagine how they could find him. After all, if there's one thing he excels at, it's hiding himself.

So it's almost four in the morning Italy time when Harry finally Apparates himself, Tyler, and Kitty back to the flat. Tyler promptly throws up on the floor, all over the glass still scattered about from his outburst after reading Draco's letter.

"Yuck," Kitty says from Harry's arms, but she watches Tyler vomit with curiosity. Harry waits for Tyler to finish then cleans it up and repairs the windows, broken lightbulb, and blu-ray player, the latter two of which no longer work. He conjures a floating ball of light so they can see and Tyler collapses onto the sofa, still looking green. Harry tries to put down Kitty but she clings to his neck, refusing to be put down. The psychologist warned him of that though, so he just wriggles his backpack off and sits beside Tyler with Kitty settled on his lap, which she seems content with.

"You okay?" he asks Tyler.

"If it's all the same to you," Tyler says weakly, closing his eyes, "I don't want to go anywhere else for the next twenty-four hours."

"You can stay here as long as you want. I've only got one bedroom though."

Tyler opens one eye to look at him. "You planning to stay here permanently with her?"

Harry glances down at Kitty, who leans against his chest and looks around the room with tired curiosity. He's not sure if she's slept yet, but if she has he doubts it's for very long.

"I don't know. I guess not. I probably need a bigger place."

"Two bedrooms is a good idea."

He nods. He doesn't really want to think about that right now. He's tired and emotionally drained, not in any mood to think about how he's supposed to find the money to buy a place to live.

"She doesn't really look like you," Tyler notes, both eyes open now. Harry twists his head to look properly at Kitty's face, scanning for parts of himself in her features. She's got light brown hair, brown eyes, and a button nose and Tyler's right. There's no real similarities between them.

"She is a metamorphmagus," Harry reminds him.

"Does that mean you'll never know what she truly looks like? I mean, what she was born like?"

Harry shrugs. "Guess not. Doesn't really matter, does it?"

"No. Just... dunno. Makes you wonder, doesn't it? What's a metamorph's true appearance? Do they even know themselves? And how much can she change herself anyway at two years old?"

Harry's about to say he has no idea when Kitty looks up at him, cocks her head, blinks slowly, and her eyes turn to match his, one bright green and one electric blue.

"Oh," he says, surprised and wondering if she did it because of their conversation or if it's merely coincidental. She offers up no explanation of course, merely settles against his chest and closes her eyes.

"That must be a good sign," Tyler says. "What's that saying? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery or something."

"Let's just hope I don't fuck it up."

"You'll do alright," Tyler reassures him. "You should probably contact the Winchesters though. They're going to want to know what to do with Meg."

"What should we do about her? She is the mother of..." He trails off, unwilling to alert Kitty to the fact that she has a living mother. "It seems kind of wrong to send her to hell."

"It's your choice," Tyler says. "You're the only one that can do it and it's your daughter's mother, but you heard her earlier. She's not interested in being a mother."

Harry doesn't respond. He summons his phone from his bag and checks the world clock app on it. It's little before ten at night in eastern USA, which is where they last were. He sends Sam a text then puts the phone aside and returns his gaze to Kitty as she tugs on his shirt.

"Kitty pee pee."

"Oh," Harry says. "Um... right."

Tyler doesn't hide his amusement at Harry's clear panic. "Either make a potty, or transfigure the toilet seat so it's small enough for her to sit on without falling in."

Harry shoots him a grateful look and gets up, looking down at Kitty, who looks back at him expectantly. "The bathroom's this way," he tells her, gesturing as he start walking. She follows after him and he stops just inside the bathroom, glancing down at her then the toilet and making a Wish for the seat to grow inwards so the hole is smaller.

"Is that okay?" he asks her.

"Step."

"What?"

She points at the bottom of the toilet. "Step!"

"Step? Oh." He looks around, but there's nothing in the bathroom to use and he makes another Wish for a small stool. She walks over to it, then turns and looks at him expectantly. He leaves, pulling the door shut behind him, then hesitates, unsure if he can return to the living room or if he should stay at the door in case she needs help. He compromises by moving down the hall to the entrance of the living room and hovering there. Tyler looks over at him.

"You might want to get a book or read up on the net about childcare, get an idea of what you're doing."

"This was a bad idea," Harry replies, slouching against the wall. "I can't do this. I don't know how."

"Hence the research," Tyler tells him, getting to his feet and coming over. "You took her, Harry. Are you really going to foist her off on child services now?"

Harry doesn't even have to think about it. "No," he admits. "I just don't want to fuck this up, Tyler."

"I'm pretty sure every new parent probably feels the same. You just have to figure it out."

He sighs then hears the toilet flush and straightens up, turning to look back at the bathroom door. He hears the tap and then a few moments later the door opens and Kitty steps out. She walks over and smiles up at Harry proudly.

"Kitty wash hands."

Harry doesn't understand why she's telling him this, but when Tyler leans over and whispers in his ear, "Tell her she's a good girl," he does, and her smile widens. He's almost grateful when his phone buzzes, giving him an excuse to go over and pick it up, finding a message from Sam saying to meet him on a stretch of road in Kansas. He looks up to tell Tyler, but hesitates when he sees Kitty again, suddenly thinking that it might not be a brilliant idea for her to meet Meg. Putting a child near a demon seems like bad parenting, even if the demon is the child's mother.

"Is that Sam?" Tyler asks when Harry still hasn't spoken. "What's he say?"

"He gave me an address to go to."

Both men glance down at Kitty as she yawns widely, then Tyler looks back at Harry and says, "Do you want me to watch her for a bit while you talk with the Winchesters and figure out whatever's going on with Meg?"

"You don't mind?" Harry asks, unable to keep the relief out of his voice.

"Yeah, it's fine. Just let me know what's going on if you're going to be a while."

"Daddy go 'way?"

Harry stares at Kitty, the word echoing through his head. _Daddy_. He's not a daddy. He's a monster, a criminal, a demon hunter, and any number of other unpleasant things, but not a daddy. But as she looks at him with wide, unhappy eyes, he reminds himself that he is a daddy, whether he feels like one or not. So he goes over and crouches in front of her.

"I'm just going to visit some... friends. I'll come back. Tyler's going to look after you until then."

"Kitty come?"

"No, it's... I'll be back soon," he promises, unsure of how to explain to a two and a half year old that she can't meet two demon hunters, a fallen angel, and a demon. Thankfully Tyler steps in to help out, crouching as well.

"Hey, Kitty, how about we watch some TV while your dad visits his friends?"

Kitty looks at Harry, bottom lip wobbling threateningly. Harry really doesn't want her to start crying—he has a hard enough time figuring out how to treat her when she's not crying—and hastily tries to figure out how to appease her. He looks around and his gaze falls on his backpack. He hesitates, then summons it to him and unzips it, hesitating again before pulling out Kiwi and turning the bear to face Kitty.

"This is Kiwi. My mum gave her to me when I was a baby. You can look after her while I'm away if you want. She'll keep you company until I get back."

He's glad to see Kitty nod and take the bear, the threat of tears disappearing as she hugs it.

"I'll be back soon," he tells her again, and Disapparates.

* * *

Harry stares at Sam, Dean, and Castiel, standing on the side of a road and wondering if he's hearing things.

"You can _cure_ demons?"

"Yeah," Sam confirms. "We only discovered it recently and we've never done a full curing ourselves, but it should work. We were thinking maybe this is a better option than sending Meg to hell or killing her. She is the mother of your kid."

Harry wishes they wouldn't remind him.

"Your choice," Dean adds. "You can be the one to do it if you like."

"That might not work," Castiel counters.

"Why not?"

"The ritual requires purification of the blood through confession of the sins. He has murdered in cold blood and split his soul doing so. If he doesn't truly repent the deed, causing his soul to rejoin, then his blood may not be pure enough to complete the ritual. Of course this _is_ speculation, but if you really want to cure Meg I advise one of you two do it."

"Can you do that?" Sam asks Harry.

"No. I don't regret killing my uncle. I never will. He deserved it."

"I'll do it then," Dean says.

"What exactly does curing a demon do?" Harry asks them. "I mean, does it make them human? Or does it destroy them or something and their vessel is given back to the person they're possessing? And in either case, if you cure a demon and they lose their powers, then what about the body? What about any old injuries that they're only ignoring because they're a demon? You don't know," he concludes when Sam, Dean, and Castiel exchange looks. "You don't know what will happen to her."

"You prefer we just kill her?" Dean asks. "Honestly, it doesn't matter to me either way. I'll just as gladly stick a knife in her heart, but she's the—"

"I know," Harry cuts him off and then sighs. "I don't like her. I don't really want her around Kitty, but she is... Cure her, I guess. It's the kindest thing to do, isn't it?"

Dean shrugs. "We're going to have to find another church—we need consecrated ground—and the ritual will take eight hours."

"Eight hours?" Harry repeats incredulously. "I can't stay here for eight hours. I have to get back. Do you need me?"

Sam shakes his head. "It's fine. You can go. We'll call you when it's done."

* * *

Back in the flat, he finds Tyler watching _Finding Nemo_ while Kitty sleeps against his side, drooling on Kiwi. Harry sits with them and Tyler carefully shifts Kitty off him then leaves to go out for a cigarette. Harry turns off the TV and sits in silence, just watching Kitty and still trying to come to terms with the fact that this is his daughter.

"So what's happening?" Tyler asks quietly when he returns. Harry tells him and Tyler's as surprised by the demon cure as Harry.

"That's incredible. Completely useless, though, now that Meg's the only demon left. Once they cure her, that's it." He looks at Harry, who merely nods, his gaze on Kitty. "Have you thought about what you're going to do? Whatever happens with Meg, you need to figure something out. Are you going to live here?"

Harry sighs. "I guess. I don't have anywhere else and I can't take her around the world like I normally do."

"Do you want back that money you lent me? You need to get her clothes, toys... whatever else it is that kids need. Your cupboards stock themselves, so at least you don't have to worry about food, but everything else..."

"I know. You can keep the money. I can manage."

Tyler nods and gets up, picking up an empty coke can and a half empty cup of juice from a side table, taking them through to the kitchen. Harry listens to him throw out the can and wash the cup, then move around the kitchen some more before eventually returning with a pack of crisps, leaning against the door frame as he eats.

"So you fancy talking about why the place was trashed when we got here?"

"Not really," Harry answers. He gets to his feet and goes to the bathroom, uses the toilet and splashes water on his face after washing his hands then leans on the sink, closing his eyes and trying vainly not to think of Draco. He feels guilty to discover he's glad for Kitty because she provides ample distraction from thinking about Draco.

He leaves the bathroom with the vague idea of finding the laptop he's fairly certain Gabriel tucked away somewhere and attempting to figure out the internet enough to research childcare. At least the actual effort of navigating the internet will kill time. Gabriel did show him how to use Google once and mention something about Facebook, which also has an app on his phone, but he's never actually used either.

But he leaves the bathroom to find Tyler waiting in the small hallway. He moves to step past him, thinking the other man wants to use the bathroom, only for Tyler to step in his way and then kiss him. Harry grabs him, not entirely sure if he's going to push him away or pull him closer, and Tyler ends the kiss.

"What was that?"

"That was a kiss, Harry."

"I mean, what for?"

"Because you seemed like you could do with something nice and undemanding, and maybe a little distraction from unplanned parenthood, but mostly just because I wanted to."

And he does it again. Harry's hands clench, one on Tyler's waist, the other gripping the front of his shirt, and surprises himself by pulling Tyler closer and opening his mouth to Tyler's probing tongue. His back hits the wall and Tyler's body presses against his front, warm and hard. He tastes like cigarettes and salt and vinegar crisps, a not entirely pleasant taste but not bad enough for Harry to pull away. He feels Tyler's hand slip around his neck and the other finds its way under Harry's jumper and shirt to settle against his skin.

Tyler breaks the kiss, presses a chaste one to the corner of his mouth, then another to his cheek, before asking softly, "Why are you crying?"

Harry's about to say that he's not, but then he feels tears slip down his cheek and Tyler kisses them away.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm just wondering why. I don't think I'm that bad of a kisser."

"No, it's not—" he pushes Tyler away, lifting a hand to wipe at his face. "I'm sorry."

"Tell me what's wrong. Is it to do with why the windows were broken earlier?"

Harry's throat tightens and he clenches his jaw shut in an effort to stave off the sobs threatening him, squeezing his eyes shut against tears. He feels Tyler press against him again, one arm sliding around his waist, the other cradling his head and tugging him forwards until Harry's face presses to his shoulder, and that simple gesture of comfort is enough to strip Harry's weak control. He gives a shuddering gasp and then starts crying in earnest, clinging to Tyler and feeling stupidly grateful to have him there.

When he finally stops, Tyler kisses his cheek and then draws back. "You want to take a nap? It's been a rough day, you could probably use the rest, and you might want to get some sleep while she's out," he adds with a nods towards the living room.

Harry conjures a couple of tissues to wipe his face with and blow his nose then vanishes them again. "Yeah, I guess. I'm gonna eat. Then maybe I'll sleep." He starts towards the living room, then stops and look back. "Thanks, Tyler."

"It's fine. But, Harry, just so you know, I wasn't pushing for anything more with that kiss. Not unless you wanted it. I do remember that you're asexual."

Harry nods, turns away again, then spins back once more. "Hey, Tyler? Would you... I mean, if you want, if you don't mind... would you be Kitty's godfather?"

Tyler's mouth drops in surprise. "Me? Harry, you do remember that I'm a: a vampire hunter, and b: an ex-junkie?"

"Her mother's a demon and her's father's..." he struggles to find a succinct description and eventually just settles for saying, "me."

"Fair point," Tyler concedes. "If you're sure..."

"I am."

"Yeah, alright then. Don't expect me to be that great of an influence on her though."

"Godfather's aren't supposed to be good influences," Harry tells him. "I know _that_ much about parenting."

* * *

He falls asleep in an armchair and wakes up around noon when Kitty tugs on his jeans and announces the moment he opens his eyes, "Daddy, Kitty hungry."

He yawns and stretches, but gets up. She grabs his hand when he starts for the kitchen and he forces himself to slow down so she can walk along side him.

"Do you need help—no, then," he interrupts himself when she clambers up onto one of the kitchen chairs, but he realises she's too small to properly reach the table and picks her up, conjures a booster seat, and sets her back down. Then he realises he has no idea what to feed her. He's not even sure what meal he should be aiming towards. Time wise, lunch is the most logical, but if she's still running on Australian time it would be closer to dinner, yet given that they've only just woken breakfast would be the most sensible. His gaze falls on the cupboards and he remembers the unique charm on them, and goes back to Kitty, picking her up again and taking her over to the cupboards.

"Kitty, these are magic cupboards," he tells hers.

"Weally?"

"Uh huh. They don't have lots of food in them, but when you open them, they'll have whatever food you want the most. So why don't you open them and show me what food you want the most?"

Only as she wraps her fingers around the handle does he realise that what a child most wants to eat might not be what's best for them, but to his surprise when the cupboard swings open, a box of Cheerios sits inside. Kitty makes a delighted noise and grabs the box. Harry returns her to her seat and gets a bowl, spoon, and milk, setting them down in front of her.

"Daddy, cup." she tells him as he pours Cheerios into the bowl.

"You want a drink? What do you want? Juice?"

"Milk."

"But you'll have milk on your cereal."

"No!" she objects loudly, jerking the bowl away when he reaches for the milk.

"Alright. Milk in a cup then." He hunts one down, pours the milk then returns it to the fridge while Kitty proceeds to eat the Cheerios with her fingers.

"You should use your spoon."

She blinks at him, picks up a Cheerio, and sticks it in her mouth.

"Or not," he mutters.

* * *

After she's eaten, Harry conjures some toys and they kill a few hours playing. When Tyler gets up and comes through from the bedroom asking if it's alright for him to use the shower, Harry wonders if he's supposed to give Kitty a bath. When he mentions it to her, however, she loudly and firmly tells him "No!" He doesn't think parents are supposed to give into their children's demands so easily, but he doesn't argue with her, merely Wishes her clean instead and figures he'll get around to the firm and demanding part of parenting when he's done some research on looking after kids and has more of an idea as to what exactly he's going to do about their lives in general.

When Tyler's done with the shower, Harry takes one himself. After, Kitty asks about drawing and he conjures her some paper and crayons then sits down with Tyler and watches TV for a couple of hours until his phone goes off.

"Hey," Sam's voice greets when he answers it. "We're all done here."

"And?"

"She's alive and still Meg. Looks like the ritual just gives the demon their humanity back and heals their body. She's asking to see you."

"I'm not bringing Kitty."

"Yeah, she doesn't want you to."

Harry frowns, not sure what he should make of that, but listens to the address Sam gives of the diner they're at and then hangs up.

Kitty starts crying when he tells her he's leaving and isn't appeased this time by Kiwi, alternately demanding that Harry stays or she goes with him. He eventually leaves her still screaming, feeling guilty for leaving Tyler to deal with the distraught child, and heads to the diner. Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Meg are at a table with meals and drinks and Harry feels Meg with his magic. He has to admit he's surprised and impressed to find she feels no different to any other human.

There's not enough room for him to join them at the table, but Meg pushes her empty plate away and gets up, saying they'll go outside to talk. There's a bench in front of the diner and they sit on it, Meg tugging her jacket around her against the chill wind.

"Being human kind of sucks," she says. "I never noticed the cold before."

He casts a Warming Charm over them both and she shoots him a grateful smile that he doesn't return.

"So look," she begins, "just because I'm human doesn't mean I'm suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to be a mom."

"What does it mean, as far as Kitty's concerned?" he asks her.

"It means I feel guilt—which, by the way, is a horrible emotion and I don't know how you people have survived with it for so long—for dumping her on a church doorstep without informing anyone she was there, and it means I hope she's safe and happy, but I've got no interest in looking after her. She's all yours. I won't interfere."

He looks at her and reaches out with his magic again, reminding himself that she's human now and he shouldn't instantly distrust her. Not that he has a reason _to_ trust her either, but he should at least give her the benefit of the doubt that he wouldn't as a demon.

"Don't do anything for her," he says. "If you're going to leave her, do it properly. Don't send birthday cards or Christmas presents or anything like that."

"You don't think she'd like—"

"It's not fair. I know that from experience. Either be her mum, or just stay out of it completely. Don't try to do it by half."

She looks at him curiously, but nods her agreement. "Alright. What are you going to tell her when she starts asking questions about her mommy?"

"The same thing I told her about me. We weren't fit to look after her when she was born so we gave her to her adopted parents, but you're still not fit to care for her so now I am."

"And the demon thing? Are you ever going to tell her about that? Because she's still half-demon."

"What does that mean? She seems completely human."

"It means she has demonic powers but none of our—their—weaknesses. Honestly, you might not even notice much. Demon spawn powers aren't that much greater than your average wizard unless Lucifer is released from hell, except they don't tend to need a wand. Anything she can do beyond the normal witch, you can probably just put down to her being your daughter."

Harry nods. He wants to ask if being half demon will make her evil, but he's not sure he'll like the answer.

"You didn't answer my question," she points out.

"I don't know. I guess I'll just see how it goes. Maybe I'll tell her when she's older."

Meg shrugs. "Your choice." She gets to her feet and he rises as well. "Look after her."

He nods and she passes him to go back into the diner, but pauses when he calls her name.

"If she decides she wants to find you when she's older," he tells her, "I won't stop her. She has a right to confront you."

She doesn't look happy about it, but she nods and heads back inside.

* * *

That evening finds Harry alone on the sofa in his flat. Kitty is asleep again, this time in the bedroom and wearing conjured pyjamas, and Tyler's heading after another vampire nest, this time in Portugal. He offers to stay longer, but Harry insists he's fine and Apparates Tyler back to Verona, leaving him at his car.

Now alone, Harry takes Draco's letters from his bag. He knows he's torturing himself by reading them again, reminding himself of something he could have had if he hadn't been so scared of himself and believed he knew better, but they're all he has left of Draco now.

He reads them out of order this time, choosing whichever one his hand settles on, but the fourth one he picks up is the first Draco ever wrote. Halfway through, though, he stops, staring at the words in front of him.

_Or if I'm honest, I didn't react to your (supposed) death as well as I could have. Still, I think I reacted better than you did to my death. I didn't come up with an entirely new universe and convince myself it was reality._

He reads them again, trying to figure out why the paragraph seems wrong and why the third sentence makes his blood run cold. Only when he speaks the words aloud, muttering them slowly and tracing them with his finger, does he realise the problem.

He never told Draco about the fantasy world he made up when he was in Azkaban. He never told anyone. Gabriel's the only one to know, having invaded Harry's mind while he was there. So how does Draco know? Harry sincerely doubts Gabriel told him; he can't see any benefit in that for the angel. Does that mean the letters aren't written by Draco? He can't imagine why Gabriel would fake a whole bunch of letters from Draco and store them in his desk, not to mention Gabriel can't be responsible for the last, damning letter Draco actually sent—he was already in heaven then.

He reads the other letters, scouring them for any other mentions of his fantasy world and finds two more, once saying Draco half wishes they both remained there because it was a happier world than reality, and once angrily asking why Harry's staying away if he wants that happiness so much. Looking at them, Harry wonders how he missed the mentions before—and what it means. He also realises that the only person who can tell him now hates him. He doubts Draco will even read, let alone reply to, any letter from him, and he doubts Draco will react well to Harry turning up on his doorstep.

He stows the letters away, but the issue lingers on his mind and he dreams of wandering his imaginary world, unable to find any of his family until his mother turns up and tells him he has to leave. By morning, when Kitty's awake, fed, dressed in conjured clothes, and asking to go outside and play, it's driving him mad. He has to see Draco and ask him about it. He promises her a trip to the park, but only after saying they had to make a stop by his friend's house first.

* * *

Draco is home when Harry arrives at Malfoy Manor, thankfully, and he's alone, flying lazily around the grounds on a broomstick. Harry watches him for a bit, keeping himself and Kitty invisible, and waits until Draco starts to descend then drops his invisibility and stands where he knows Draco will see him.

Sure enough, when the man lands and dismounts, slings his broom over his shoulder and then turns to head inside, his gaze falls on Harry and Kitty. He does a double take, stares, and for a moment Harry thinks he might ignore him and head inside anyway, but he doesn't, instead stalking over to stand before the two. He glares at Harry then shifts his gaze to Kitty.

"Who's that?"

Kitty, in a burst of shyness, buries her face in Harry's shoulder.

"This is Katrina. Kitty," Harry says nervously. "She's, um... my daughter."

Draco gapes at him. "Your... your..." He snaps his mouth shut, stares at Kitty, swallows thickly, then says, "Come inside," and turns on his heel and stalks away. Harry follows apprehensively and Draco takes them to the drawing room. He summons his house elf to bring them drinks and Kitty shrieks at the sight of her, but calms down at Harry's reassurance, though she refuses to answer when the elf asks what she'd like to drink, at least until Harry says to bring apple juice and Kitty decides she wants orange instead. When the drinks have been brought, Harry puts Kitty down, gives her the orange juice and conjures some toys, and sits in a chair Draco gestures to.

"Is this why I've not heard from you in two years?"

"No," Harry admits. "I only found out about her... a few days ago," he says after thinking about it. It's hard to keep track of how many days pass when he moves around the world so much.

"The same day you came here?"

Harry looks away guiltily. "I'm so-"

"Why are you here, Harry? I assume you got my letter. The one I sent, that is," he adds snidely.

"Yes," he mutters.

"Then what? Was it not clear enough or did you just want to come and flaunt the product of your time away from me?"

"She's not 'a product of my time away'," Harry counters angrily, surprised at how much Draco's words bother him. He can handle slurs and anger against himself, but he won't have it against Kitty. "She's my daughter and I told you, I didn't know about her until a few days ago. She was... I mean... the person I had... y'know... with, that happened while I was possessed. She was a demon too."

Draco's eyebrows jump towards his hairline. "Your daughter is demon spawn?"

Harry scowls, but it's technically true. "She's half-human too and that's the part that matters. I didn't come here to talk about her."

Draco leans back in his seat, waving his hand in a broad gesture. "Then go ahead. Tell me why you did come here."

Harry bends down to take Draco's first letter from the front pocket of his bag, opening it and pointing to the third paragraph. "How did you know about this?"

Draco skims the paragraph then looks away without answering.

"You mention it in a couple of others as well. I never told anyone about making all that up, so how do you know?"

"You should leave."

"Tell me, Draco."

"Why?" he snaps, looking back at him. "Why should I tell you anything? Two years you leave me with nothing then you sneak in here to steal from me, and now you turn up with a daughter and expect me to just give in to your demands. Screw you, Harry."

"Draco, I'm sorry."

"For what? Leaving? Not coming back? Stealing?"

"All of it."

"Then why do it? Why didn't you stay, Harry?"

"I told you before, I couldn't. I wasn't fit to. I needed space to deal with everything."

"Then what about Saturday night? Why did you come here other than to steal from me?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Draco frowns. "Okay from..." His expression clears to one of understanding and he straightens up in his seat. "You know why the meteor shower affected so many wizards, don't you?"

Harry nods. "It wasn't meteors. It was angels. They were all cast out of heaven, but they give off really powerful magic that makes wizards get sort of high."

"Merlin," Draco mutters, sitting back again. "Then why did it stop? Have they gone now?"

"Yes. I sent them all back to heaven."

"You sent them back to heaven?"

"Their wings burned off so they couldn't go back by themselves, but Gabriel said they can repair them in heaven, so I sent them all back and then I Wished for them to stay there."

"Why?"

"Because it turns out they're not as kind and friendly as I thought. It's better if they all stay in heaven. I did it to the demons as well; I sent them all to hell and trapped them there."

Draco shakes his head. "And I thought nothing about you would surprise me after Elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?"

Draco glances away. "You should really go, Harry."

"You're talking about my fantasy world, aren't you? What do you know about it, Draco? _How_ do you know about it?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to."

"I could make you."

Draco glares at him. "So now you're willing to invade my mind and control my actions? Do I mean nothing to you anymore?"

"No! I mean, yes. I lo- I care about you, Draco, I do."

"Then you'll leave my mind alone."

Harry sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing at them, then looking up at him again sadly. "I don't know that it's yours."

"What are you talking about?"

"The only person who knew about my fantasy world was Gabriel, the archangel I told you about before. I never told _anyone_ else, not ever. Which means either he told you, and there's no reason he would, or you're him. It's possible I messed up when I sent the angels to heaven. He's an archangel for crying out loud, it's possible he could escape even my power. I will invade your mind if it means finding out the truth. If you're not really Draco, then I will find him and save him and kill you. If you are Draco, then I'm sorry. I still need to know how you know about that place."

"I'm not allowed to tell you, Harry," Draco insists. "It's forbidden."

"By who?"

"The archangel Michael, a demon working for Lucifer, and Death."

Harry blinks. "Oh." He frowns, thinks for a minute, then adds, "Michael and Lucifer are both trapped in a hell cage because they tried to start the apocalypse. All the demons are trapped in hell, and the rest of the angels are trapped in heaven."

"Have you trapped Death somewhere too?" Draco asks dryly and Harry looks at him calculatingly.

"If I say yes, will you tell me about my fantasy world?"

Draco's jaw drops then snaps shut. "You're lying. You don't have him trapped."

"Tell me about it."

"No."

"Are you scared Death will kill you if you do?"

"It's a reasonable concern."

"Why did he say you can't tell me?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you."

Harry scowls. "What can you tell me?"

"Nothing."

"Daddy?" He looks down to see Kitty standing and hopping from one foot to the other. "Kitty pee pee."

Harry glances at Draco, who gestures to the nearest of the two doors out the room. "Turn right, third door on the left."

Harry nods and gets to his feet, taking Kitty's hand and leading her out. He conjures a step for her in the bathroom and waits outside for her to finish then vanishes it again, but has to remind her to wash her hands before they return to the dining room.

"Park now?"

"Soon."

He pauses when they get back. Draco's still in his chair, but there's thirty letters on his lap and one open in his hands, and Harry's bag is open on the floor. They're written on paper rather than parchment, which is all Harry needs to know that they're his letters and not Draco's. Draco looks up and meets Harry's gaze, eyes challenging Harry to say something about his actions. Harry doesn't. He vanishes Kitty's toys, zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, and then picks up Kitty.

"I'm sorry for coming."

Draco's jaw clenches and he looks away without saying anything. Heart twisting, Harry turns away, heading for the other door. When he reaches it, he pauses halfway out to look back, but Draco's attention is on the letter, his face hidden from Harry's sight. Harry opens his mouth to say something, maybe tell Draco he loves him even if Draco hates him or to apologise again, but decides against it and closes his mouth, turning away and heading for the front door.


	11. Chapter 10

**26th June 2015**

"You sure you don't mind?"

Tyler rolls his eyes. "It's fine, Harry. Go. I can look after her for an hour. I have done it before."

"Right, yeah, sorry. Kitty, make sure you're a good girl for Tyler, okay?"

"'Kay, Daddy."

"Okay, I'll see you later."

Harry turns himself invisible, Disapparates from the flat, and reappears in the corner of a small cemetery, still lit by the sun hanging low in the sky. He looks around, checking it's empty before he turns visible, and walks over to one of the gravestones. It's still the newest one there and there's a fresh bundle of dark crimson roses at the base of the stone. He kneels in front of it and closes his eyes, bowing his head.

He stays there for fifteen minutes, silently remembering and paying respects to a man he had a difficult relationship with and wishing, too late of course, that things had been different. When he opens his eyes, he reaches over to touch the headstone and murmurs quietly, "I'm sorry, Dad," then gets to his feet and turns away.

Draco stands at the gate of the graveyard. He's clearly there for Harry, as the moment he turns, Draco sticks his hands in his pockets and walks over. Harry doesn't leave, despite his desire to. No doubt whatever Draco has to say will be vicious and hateful, but he knows it's nothing less than he deserves.

But the first words out of Draco's mouth is a politely inquiring, "Where's... Kitty, was it?"

Harry nods. "With Tyler Lyle. He's her godfather."

Draco raises an eyebrow. "You made a vampire hunting drug addict your daughter's godfather?"

"Her mother was a demon and her father's a presumed-dead fugitive who's committed mass murder. And Tyler's not an addict anymore."

"That wasn't your fault."

Harry looks away, wrapping his arms about himself. "What do you want, Draco?"

"I've spent the last three weeks reading those letters you wrote and trying to decide how or if it changes things. Do you know what I figured out?"

"What?" Harry asks warily.

"One: you take after Severus far more than I ever thought. He hated himself for your death just as much as you hate yourself for the things you did while possessed."

"Why did he hate himself for that?" Harry asks, frowning. "It wasn't his fault."

Draco drops his gaze and hunches his shoulders slightly, saying quietly, "My father made him believe it was, that you had killed yourself because of Severus. He made me believe it too."

Harry closes his eyes, expression pained as he turns away slightly. "No offence, Draco, but I hate your father."

"If he hadn't brought me back to life, I'd hate him for everything he's done too. Even with that, I don't like him."

Harry isn't sure what to say to that, so he asks, "What else did you figure out?"

"That I still love you."

Harry inhales sharply, opening his eyes and looking cautiously at Draco, barely daring to believe it. Draco meets his gaze calmly.

"It's true, and I realised I should stop trying to convince myself it's not. I know the worst about you, Harry, but I still love you and I realise that if I still love you even now, after everything, then I'm clearly not going to stop loving you so I shouldn't try. And the last thing I realised," he says, stepping closer and taking his hands from his pockets to grab one of Harry's, "is that we're both idiots who should have told each other we still love each other, so we both could have avoided a lot of heartache."

"Draco, I—"

"I'm going to kiss you now," Draco interrupts, and does so, gently at first until Harry whimpers and grabs him, pulling him closer and brushing his tongue against Draco's lips. Draco's mouth opens to him and his hands come up to tangle in Harry's hair, head tilting and body pressing against Harry's own.

Then Harry breaks the kiss, jerking their heads apart and making Draco blink at him uncomprehendingly. "Harry, what—"

"I kissed Tyler," Harry blurts. Draco draws back.

"You what?"

"It was the day I got your letter. Or the day after maybe, I'm not sure. He kissed me and I kissed him back."

Draco removes his hands from Harry's hair and steps away. "Why are you telling me that?"

"Because you told me—I mean you wrote, in your letters, about those guys you... and I thought that it wasn't fair that I know about that and you don't know that I kissed Tyler. So I thought you should know."

Draco frowns. "Are you and him together?"

"No." He pauses, then adds, "I think maybe he wants to because sometimes I think he looks at me like he wants to... y'know... do stuff, but he never asked or anything so maybe I'm wrong. But we're not together or anything. We're just friends."

"Then I don't care that—"

Harry's phone rings. He digs it from his pocket, sees Tyler's name on the front, and says apologetically to Draco, "I need to answer this. Hello?"

"Harry, bit of an emergency, you need to get home right now."

Without even hesitating, Harry grabs Draco's wrist and Apparates. They reappear in the flat and almost get hit by an oversized flying rubber duck.

"What in Merlin's name...?" Draco says, looking around. The rubber duck isn't the only oversized thing whizzing about—almost every one of the toys Harry's conjured or bought for Kitty over the past two weeks is moving of it's own accord.

"Tyler! Kitty!"

"Bedroom!" Tyler's voice calls. Harry heads towards it, almost getting knocked over by a foot-tall plastic sheep on the way, but eventually gets there to find Tyler huddled in the corner, trying to fend off a swarm of toy aeroplanes, while Kitty is on top of the wardrobe, giggling and brandishing Tyler's wand.

Harry jerks his hand and the wand flies out of her fingers and into his, then he levitates himself up and pulls her down, tossing the wand to the bed when she tries to snatch it and ignoring her pout when she doesn't get it. He makes a Wish and the toys around them shrink to their normal sizes and clatter to the floor.

"Daddy, Kitty magic!"

Harry ignores Kitty's comment, attention on Tyler. "What the hell did you do?"

"Me? She snatched my wand! I didn't do anything!"

"And how'd she get on the bloody wardrobe?"

"I don't know, I was a bit busy trying to stop the damn toys from killing me! Don't blame this on me, Harry. It's not my fault!"

"You were looking after her!"

"Harry, you can't blame him for Kitty's misbehaviour," Draco says from the doorway.

"Thank you. I—Christ," Tyler interrupts himself, just realising who stands there. "Malfoy."

"Lyle," he greets politely then returns his attention to Harry. "Children will get their hands on wands. Vega set my mother's curtains on fire when she was four."

Harry nods, mutters an apology to Tyler, and sets Kitty down, crouching in front of her. "Kitty, you're not to touch Tyler's wand again."

"Kitty magic!"

"Yes, you are, but you're not allowed to touch Tyler's wand."

"Why? Kitty magic!"

"Because it's not yours and you're not allowed to play with it."

She looks at him hopefully. "Kitty want wand."

"No."

She pouts and her eyes turn from normal brown to bright red. "Kitty want wand. Kitty want wand!"

Harry represses a shudder at the sight of her eyes and keeps his gaze on her nose, knowing if her looks at those eyes in that colour then he'll say yes just to make her change them. He hates it when her eyes go red. "No. You're too little."

She stomps her feet and screams. "Kitty want wand! Kitty want wand!"

"You're not getting one. You can have one when you're older."

"Now!"

He lets out a frustrated growl. "No, and if you don't stop shouting I'll put you in the naughty corner."

She shouts wordlessly at him and when he picks her up under the arms she squirms and tries to kick him all the way through to the living room. There's a stool in the corner and he sits her on it while Wishing all her toys into the toy box on the other side of the room.

"You stay there for five minutes. If you can't behave in that time, it will be ten minutes."

She blows a raspberry at him.

"And if you do that again, you'll get no afters at dinner."

"No!"

"Yes. So if you want afters, stay there and behave."

She scowls and huffs, but her eyes turn deep blue and she doesn't move as he heads back to the bedroom.

"Enjoy parenting?" Draco asks when he returns and Harry glowers at him, getting a smirk in return.

"Sorry for blaming you, Tyler. You can head off now, if you want."

Tyler glances at Draco then back to Harry. "Actually, Harry, I was kind of wondering if I could spend the night. I'm still short on cash and waiting on a new credit card and sleeping in the car isn't that fun."

Harry waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, sure. Um... can you give us a minute?"

"We're going to need longer than a minute," Draco says with a hitch of his eyebrows and a slightly leering smile. "At least ten, but an hour if we do it properly."

Tyler raises his own eyebrows, mouth curling into a smirk as his gaze shifts to Harry and he says in a vaguely disapproving voice, "Your daughter's in the other room, Harry, and she sleeps here. Time and place, Harry, time and place."

Harry frowns. "I know—oh! Hey, we're not—that isn't—oh shut up, both of you," he finishes grumpily when he realises they're winding him up.

"Hasn't changed," Draco remarks.

"Not a bit," Tyler agrees and the door snaps shut behind him.

"You're both horrible," Harry says.

"You're nearly thirty-five; you think you could handle a bit of dirty humour without blushing like a twelve year old."

Harry sits on the end of the bed, smoothing his hands over the covers and looking at Draco apprehensively. "So. I guess we have to talk now."

Draco sits beside him. "Yes," he agrees, and says nothing more. They sit in awkward silence for almost a minute before Draco sighs, turns to Harry, and says, "I want you, Harry."

Harry opens his mouth to speak but Draco lifts his hand, pressing a finger to Harry's lips.

"I want _everything_ with you. I want the life together that we had in Elsewhere. I want to share a home with you even if that means moving out of Malfoy Manor and into a three-bedroom house by the lake district. I want to have you at my side and I want everyone to know who you are so they know I love you. I even want to help you raise that little girl through there." He leans forwards, resting his forehead against Harry's and letting his finger drop so his hand rests in Harry's lap. "I want you, Harry."

Harry closes his eyes and resists the desire to take Draco's hand in his own. "I want you too, Draco," he whispers. "But we can't, not in the Wizarding World and certainly not in England."

He feels Draco pull away but doesn't open his eyes, unwilling to see the expression on his face. "I'm dead, and if I wasn't, I'm meant to be in Azkaban. I can't be someone you can show off, not as myself."

"Harry, look at me. _Look at me_ ," Draco demands when Harry doesn't. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes and is surprised to find Draco looking at him with faint amusement.

"Harry, have you read a recent history book lately?"

Harry frowns. "No. Why?"

"Because most of them paint you as a tragic hero, not a villain."

"What? But I—"

"Saved the world from an evil tyrant."

"I got possessed by an evil tyrant. Dad killed him. And I killed Dad."

"A demon killed your father. Harry, the world doesn't hate you. It's been nearly twenty years since you killed Dumbledore; they've moved on. A new generation has been born and, don't take this the wrong way, but people are starting to forget you."

Harry shakes his head, not convinced. "They'll remember me quick enough if I show up alive. They'll throw me back in Azkaban. I've got a kid to look after; I can't go back there."

"What if you didn't have to?" Draco asks, eyes gleaming.

"What are you talking about? I broke out and I'm a murderer. They'd never let me not go back."

"They would if you made—"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm supposed to be a good person now. I can't do things like that."

Draco doesn't push the idea. "Alright, then we'll go about it legally. We'll make a case to get your sentence commuted."

"How are you going to do that? After everything I did..."

"It was twenty years ago, remember? And besides, I happen to know that the warden of Azkaban doesn't even want you there. When my father was captured, I heard her and the other guards saying they were glad it was only him that came back because they hated having you there. That would help. I'll even ask Granger for help; she works in the DMLE now. You never should have been sent there in the first place; all the people you killed were at Voldemort's command." He grabs Harry's hands, face alight with excitement now. "Harry, you won't have to go back."

"Not all of them."

"Sorry?"

"Not everyone I killed was because of Voldemort. My uncle wasn't, or the Assistant."

Draco leans back, the excitement fading but his grip on Harry's hands tightening. "Do you want to go back?"

Harry's denial is instant. "No! I'm just..." He pulls away and gets up, rubbing at his face with both hands. "I need to think about this, Draco. I can't just... there's a lot to consider and I'm still... I didn't expect you to turn up today. Or ever."

Draco nods. "I understand. My apologies, I didn't mean to pressure you."

Harry doesn't turn back around. Draco clears his throat.

"I did have two reasons for waiting at the graveyard for you, Harry."

Harry does look at him then. "You waited?"

"All day," Draco confirms. "I thought you might turn up and it seemed the only way to catch you in person when I had no idea where you were, so I took the day off work and waited for you."

"You could have written."

"What I want to tell you shouldn't really be put in writing."

"What is it?"

Draco glances around, hunches his shoulders slightly, and inhales deeply. "It's about Elsewhere."

Harry sits back down. "My fantasy world? But what about Death?"

"Yeah, just don't... mention him. I'd rather not accidentally summon him when I'm risking my life for you, Harry."

"You don't—"

"It's real."

"What?"

"Elsewhere is real. You created it—not just in your head, but actually created it, and you pulled me, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin out of heaven and purgatory and put us there. Our souls, anyway. You pulled your mum there as well."

Harry gapes at him, listening incredulously as Draco tells him how the rest of the population was imaginary, how reality sometimes seeped through, and how everything stopped when Harry left. He's not sure whether he wants to believe it or not. It's one thing to know that he can make things cease to exist, as he has before, but to think that he could create something like that—an entire plane of existence... he's not surprised heaven, hell, and Death wanted to keep the information from him. That kind of power really is godly.

"Harry?"

He blinks and looks at Draco, realising he's been staring at the wall trying to consider the implications of this. Draco reads the shock on his face. "I'll leave you to think about everything. Take as much time as you need."

Harry just nods. Draco stands up. "I hope to see you again soon, Harry."

His stares at him then the words and tone register and he leaps to his feet. "Wait!" he cries just as Draco's about to leave. Draco looks at him, waiting to see what he has to say, but Harry just grabs his face and kisses him. Hard at first, then softening it, sighing gently when Draco's arms come around him and he leans into the kiss.

When they break apart, Draco smiles at him gently.

"I love you," Harry says and the smile broadens to light up Draco's entire face.

"I love you too."

* * *

Harry is curled up in his favourite armchair as a fox at midnight when his front door opens and Tyler stumbles inside. He left earlier, not long after Draco, saying he was going out to find a pub. Judging by the smell and his difficulty walking straight, he found one. Harry watches from his chair as Tyler staggers over to the sofa and collapses onto it face first, mumbling something incoherent into one of the cushions. After a few minutes of that, he rolls over, falls off, and hits the floor with a thud and a curse word.

He notices Harry then, head tilting back to look at him upside down, and then he seems to take an exorbitant amount of effort to sit up, turn around, and face Harry.

"I hate you," he says. Harry lifts his head, wrinkling his nose at the stink of alcohol and cigarettes, and tries to figure out if the words are true or just spurred by too much drink. "You and Draco bloody Malfoy."

Tyler sighs and leans his arms on the chair, resting his head on them and staring morosely at Harry, who shifts back as he gets a fresh whiff of the unpleasant smell.

"Michaela was right," he carries on, and Harry has no idea now what he's talking about, not until Tyler's next words. "She asked if I was in love with you. I said no but I am. You and Draco bloody Malfoy. Stupid pretty dead gorgeous Draco bloody Malfoy. It's not fair. I was in love with him in school but he was completely obsessed with you. Now I think I'm in love with you and you're obsessed with him and he's obsessed with you and no one's obsessed with poor drunk me."

Harry feels distinctly uncomfortable now. He doesn't know how he's supposed to respond to drunken love confessions. Not that he knows how he'd respond to sober love confessions either. Before now, Draco's the only person to say he loves Harry and Harry loves him back, so it's simple. Maybe if he's lucky Tyler will forget everything he's saying by morning and Harry won't have to respond at all; he certainly has no plans to turn human and respond to Tyler's words right now.

He bristles, fur rising, when Tyler reaches out and pets him, but doesn't move away from the clumsy hand. Tyler's eyelids are drooping, so he'll wait until the man falls asleep then head to the bedroom and sleep at the foot of the bed that's become Kitty's.

"Thought I finally had a chance," Tyler mumbles. "Thought I'd have a go... when things settled a bit... shoulda tried sooner... 'fore stupid Malfoy turned up..."

He trails off and the hand patting Harry falls still, sitting heavily on his back. He waits until he's sure Tyler's asleep then squirms out from under his hand, climbs over the arm of the chair, and leaps to the floor, trotting down the hall to the bedroom to slip through the partially open door. Kitty's night light candle sends a gently flickering light over the room and he silently goes to the bed, jumping up onto it. Kitty is tucked under the covers, Kiwi clutched in one arm, and she doesn't stir as Harry curls up at the end of the bed and joins her in sleep.

* * *

"Please tell me you've pain killers," Tyler says croakily the next morning, staggering into the kitchen. Harry doesn't look up from his toast, just answers simply, "Cupboards."

"God bless angels," Tyler mutters, going to them, fumbling the handle before getting it open to reveal a vial of navy potion that he snatches up and gladly gulps down, slumping against the counters afterwards with a grateful sigh. "That's the ticket."

"Tywer 'ick?" Kitty asks, eating her Cheerios and watching her godfather.

"Not anymore," the man answers.

"My other daddy 'ick," Kitty tells them. In the past week Harry's heard similar statements from her, randomly offered pieces of information about her 'other' daddy or mummy. He's not entirely sure what they mean and whether it's the prelude to a desire to want them back or her own way of dealing with their deaths, but for now he decides the best thing to do is take them in stride.

This statement makes him frown though. "Did your other daddy get sick a lot?"

Kitty shrugs and offers no other information.

"I use your shower?" Tyler asks. Harry still hasn't looked at him and merely nods. He hasn't figured out how to react to the previous night's revelation. For that matter, he hasn't thought much about yesterday at all. After Draco left, he was too stunned and reeling from the revelations to actually give much thought to either the ramifications of the newfound extent to his power or to the idea of revealing himself to the general public.

He knows he has to think about them at some point, and probably sooner rather than later, but with any luck, Tyler's confession won't be something Harry has to think about as long as Tyler makes no comment on it. If Tyler says he doesn't remember the night before then Harry has absolutely no intention of informing him.

He goes through what's become his morning routine while Tyler's in the shower—finishing his breakfast, making sure Kitty's finishes hers, washing her face and hands then helping her get dressed before he lets her start playing. When Tyler's done with the bathroom, Harry uses it and gets dressed himself then returns to the living room to watch Kitty pit toy car against plastic cow. The cow seems to be winning.

"So what's going on with you and Draco?" Tyler asks, sitting beside him. Harry is hyper aware of the minimal space between them despite having sat this close to Tyler on multiple occasions in the past year without giving it a second thought. "He certainly looked happy when he left yesterday."

"He wants me to reveal myself."

Tyler looks at him incredulously. "He does remember that you're an escaped convict with a murder rap, right? They'll chuck you in Azkaban the minute you show your face."

"He wants to try and get my sentence commuted."

"You were charged with multiple murders and you've got a breakout on top of that. No offence, mate, but I highly doubt they'll commute a sentence for that."

"I know."

They lapse into silence. On the floor, Kitty makes exaggerated noises as her cow stomps over the car. Harry wonders if he should be concerned that his daughter is pretending to kill—as he assumes she's imagining people in the car. His hasty research on the internet the past few weeks, under Tyler's patient guidance after he found Gabriel's laptop, says imaginary play is a vital part of development, but he doesn't know if pitting animals against people is normal or if it could be a small sign of her demonic nature.

"If it did get commuted," Tyler ventures after a few minutes, "what then?"

Harry shrugs. "I don't know. He wants me to move in with him."

"At Malfoy Manor? Could you do that?" he asks when Harry nods. "I mean... you did spend like four months locked up there getting tortured."

"I'll fill the cellar with cement."

He can feel Tyler's gaze on him, but he refuses to look around and meet the other man's eyes.

"Is that what you want? To move in with Draco, be a... house husband? Look after Kitty and wait for him to come home? Or get a job as well? If you can."

"I don't know. Maybe. It might be good for Kitty. I still don't have any other options for finding us a place to live. I can't come up with that kind of money without robbing a bank or something. I'm not sure I can hold a normal job."

"You shouldn't just do it for her, Harry. You need to do what makes you happy as well as what's good for you both. Don't move in with Draco just because you want to use him for a place to live."

"I wouldn't! I love him, I wouldn't do that."

Tyler lets out a heavy breath and finally turns his face away from Harry. "Well. If you love him then the choice is obvious. Whatever else happens, job or no job, legal freedom or not, you should be with him."

He stands up and Harry finally looks at him, something in his tone making Harry feel guilty. "Tyler—"

"I'm just going out for a fag," he says, digging in his pocket for his cigarettes as he heads for the door.

The next few seconds seem to occur in slow motion to Harry, yet remain beyond his control. He notices the reaper first, feeling with his magic it as it appears in the room, and he jerks up in his seat. At the same moment, Kitty, apparently done with the car, tosses the toy aside and reaches instead for a lorry. The car bounces into Tyler's path and he does a little hop to avoid it, only to misstep, stumble, and fall. He throws out one hand to stop himself, but his head still hits the media unit holding the TV and non-working blu-ray player, and Harry knows even as Tyler slumps to the floor that he's dead because the magic around him goes abruptly still.

"Tyler!"

He doesn't remember leaving the sofa, or kneeling by Tyler and turning him over, but he finds himself with Tyler's head in his lap, blue eyes staring up blankly. There's a gash on his forehead, blood seeping from it deceptively slowly. Harry's hands shake and tears sting at his eyes. To his magic senses he can feel the hot sensation of a soul leaving Tyler's body and the reaper moving closer, ready to take Tyler away.

Kitty crawls up beside Harry. "Tywer hurt," she points out unnecessarily. "Daddy fix?"

The word 'no' sticks somewhere in his throat, never quite reaching his lips.

"Daddy fix," Kitty demands, undoubtedly thinking Harry can heal Tyler as easily as he once healed a scraped knee on her. "Daddy fix!"

'I can't,' he wants to say, but although they don't stick in his throat like the no, they're not the words that come out of his mouth.

"Yes, I can."

He doesn't even think about it, which is a good thing as he'd probably stop. He doesn't know what inspires him, maybe Kitty's demands or maybe the fact that he's still doubtful of Draco's description of his god-like abilities, and now he has the chance to really see it. If he can make entirely new universes, expelling his power in ways that scare angels and demons alike, they why can't he bring back the dead, too? That, after all, is something that angels and demons do—or rather, did—with relative ease.

He isn't aware of closing his eyes, doesn't think about the details, just focuses solely on his Wish, on what he wants and how badly he wants it.

"Repair Tyler Lyle's head. Heal his injury and repair all damage."

He feels it working, his magic knitting together the cut and then seeping through his skull to caress his brain, working in ways that Harry might understand better if he knew more about biology. He knows about magic though and he knows his Wish has worked when he feels the magic around Tyler start to vibrate and come to life again.

Not enough though and he knows why. He can still feel Tyler's soul, hovering hotly nearby with the reaper, and he imagines them both staring at him, marvelling. He doesn't linger on it, just makes another Wish.

"Put Tyler Lyle's soul back in his body."

He can't help gasping slightly when his magic lashes out to whip around the soul, forcibly dragging it down and shoving it into Tyler's body. The magic around the man jumps and sparks, bursting out to smash the windows, and then Tyler gasps.

Harry opens his eyes. Wide blue eyes stare up at him, blink once, then hands jerk up, grab him by the face, and yank him down so Tyler can kiss him firmly on the mouth. Harry blinks, startled, but Tyler breaks it before they can do more than that.

"I love you."

Harry flushes. "W-w-well, I just—I mean, I—it's not—that's—"

Tyler kisses him again, softer this time, then repeats, "I love you. I want you to know, just in case I die again and you don't bring me back to life. By the way—your mum. Red hair, green eyes, very pretty?"

Harry nods, still somewhat shocked from what he's done.

"She's nice. Shocked about the grandchild. Not too impressed with what you were doing though."

Harry glances instinctively over at where he can still feel the reaper. "I had to," he says, not sure if he's explaining himself to her or to Tyler. "I couldn't let anyone else die."

"Except I did die and you brought me back to life, which is terrifyingly impressive, but she said you shouldn't do it."

Harry shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but angels and demons did it all the time. I had the power. I had to."

He feels the reaper shift and then vanish. He just hopes he won't get a visit from Death any time soon.

"Can you take me to England?"

Harry blinks at Tyler. "What? Why?"

"I need to see Draco Malfoy. Y'know, maybe I'll visit my family while I'm there too."

* * *

They interrupt Draco in the middle of breakfast, England being an hour behind Italy and Kitty being an early riser. A house elf answers the door to the three of them, after Harry has scanned the house to make sure Draco's the only one there, and takes them through to the dining room where Draco greets them with obvious confusion and wariness that quickly turns to shock when Tyler stalks up to him and kisses him. Harry rather enjoys the startled look on Draco's face.

"What—"

"I love you," Tyler interrupts. "I've loved you since the Yule Ball at Hogwarts. Also I've fallen a little bit in love with Harry as well and if you two do get back together, I would love to have another threesome. Several in fact. If you're both up for it."

Draco gapes at him. Harry goes red. Kitty's eyes turn bluish-purple. Tyler faints.

Draco snatches his wand from the table and drops down beside the man, all confusion and shock vanishing from his face as his entire being seems to change, a serious look on his face that makes Harry think very suddenly, 'He's a healer.'

"Tywer!" Kitty cries, squirming in Harry's arms.

"He's alright," Draco says, wand moving over Tyler, the end glowing faintly green. "Exhausted, it seems."

His wand goes out and he looks up. "What the hell was that about? Is he high?"

"No."

"Tywer 'ick," Kitty offers helpfully. Draco glances at her, looks to Harry for confirmation, then his eyes snap back to Kitty and he jumps to his feet.

"Her eyes!"

Harry glances at her, just now noticing the colour. "What about them?"

"They're—is that..." He pauses then mouths 'demon thing?'

"Oh, no, she's a metamorphmagus. Kitty, show Draco how you change your eyes and hair."

She screws up her face, eyes closed, and her hair turns to Draco's shade of white-blond. When she opens her eyes, they're the same as Harry's. Draco's mouth drops slightly before he catches himself and closes it.

"That's very clever," he says to Kitty then gestures to Tyler and asks Harry, "Is he sick?"

"Um... he was hungover this morning, but he took a potion."

"Tywer bang head," Kitty says. Harry tries not to look guilty. He's not sure he succeeds.

"Harry, what happened? I need to know."

"He... might have... maybe... died?"

"What?"

Harry grimaces. "It was an accident. It wasn't my fault either, okay? He just tripped and hit his head on the TV unit, but it killed him."

"He doesn't look dead."

"I brought him back to life."

"You... brought him back to life," Draco repeats slowly.

"Yes?"

"Are you sure he was dead? He wasn't just badly knocked out?"

Harry shakes his head. "He died. I felt it and a reaper came to get him."

Draco looks down at Tyler for a long moment then flicks his wand and levitates the man up onto the long table. He shoves two chairs out of the way and bends over Tyler, muttering spells on him, poking him with his wand, shining light into his eyes, and taking a pulse. He does this for several minutes before straightening up and turning to face Harry.

"There's no indication that he was ever dead."

"That's good."

"That's faintly terrifying if what you said is true."

"I'm not lying," Harry says, a little snubbed.

"I didn't mean to imply that you were. It's just... Harry, this is..."

"I know."

Draco shakes his head, glancing one more at Tyler then asking Harry, "Do you know what the love confession was about? Is he serious?"

"I think so," Harry says, feeling his cheeks grow hot. "Last night he get drunk and he said he... y'know. That he loved us. I thought maybe it was just the drink, but he seemed kind of disappointed when we were talking about me and you and I said I still loved you, and then the accident happened and when I brought him back he kissed me and said he loved me and wanted me to know and wanted to come and tell you as well, just in case he dies again. And he wants to see his family again. But the threesome thing he didn't tell me."

"This is... the weirdest Monday morning I have ever had and it's not even seven o'clock yet," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Look, um... I have to be at work in twenty minutes. You can stay here, if you like. No one should come by while I'm gone, so it'll be safe. Lyle is fine; he just needs to sleep for a while."

Harry shakes his head. He doesn't feel comfortable staying in Malfoy Manor without Draco there, but remembering that Tyler wants to visit his family, who are all in England, he says, "I'm going home, but if it's okay I'll leave Tyler and I'm going to put his car outside so he can take it when he gets up."

"Where's his car now?"

"Italy."

"How are you going to get it here?"

"I can create entire universes and raise the dead," Harry points out. "I'm pretty sure I can Apparate a car from Italy to England."

"Yeah," Draco agrees, evidently still trying to process the fact that Harry can raise the dead. "I've got to get ready. I'll have Syp move him to a room and let you move the car."

Harry nods. Draco turns to go then turns back, steps up to him, and kisses him gently on the cheek before turning once more and leaving the room.

4th July 2015

Little after midnight, Harry bundles up a deeply sleeping Kitty, makes sure she's got Kiwi tight in her grip, and Apparates to a large empty room in the middle of Greenland. There are no windows and no doors, and with the heavy insulation in the walls and previously applied warming charms, it's untouched by the freezing temperatures outside.

Kitty stirs slightly at their relocation, but doesn't wake. He waits to make sure she's still sleeping snuggly before conjuring a small bed against one wall and laying her in it, tucking her and Kiwi under covers. He shrugs off his backpack, conjures a length of ribbon, and ties one end around one strap of the bag and the other around Kitty's wrist. He checks his watch then waves his hand over the ribbon and murmurs, " _Portus_ ," and focuses on one hour, setting a time trigger for it.

With that done, he presses a kiss to her hair, gets to his feet, and moves to the middle of the room. He conjures five metal tables, each seven feet long and four wide with a few feet between each. He hesitates then, just briefly, looking around like he's worried someone will appear, and reaches out with his magic as far as he can, venturing into the icy land beyond the room, but he feels only ice and snow. He and Kitty are the only organic beings, living or dead, in the vicinity. He takes a deep breath and then makes a Wish.

Five skeletons appear on the tables, the clatter of bones on metal echoing through the room. Harry winces and glances at Kitty, but she thankfully doesn't stir. Knowing he needs to work quickly now, he hurries over to the table on the far right, closes his eyes, and focuses entirely on his magic and the bones in front of him. He imagines the pictures and diagrams he spent the last week intently studying, remembers the feel of the magic around the various animals he practised on, and encourages the latent magic around the bones to remind them of what they used to be, to remember heavy flesh and wet blood, tiny capillaries and throbbing arteries, nerves and tendons and cells, fluids and proteins and hormones, muscles and organs and hair and things that Harry can't remember the names of but which the body _knows_ , everything building up how it should be through his own sheer force of will and guided by the DNA left in the bones.

And when it's done, he opens his eyes and looks down with a gasp at his mother's body, skin pale and lightly freckled, hair a more vibrant red than it looks in any of the pictures he has, eyes green as his own real one.

But also completely naked.

He flushes bright red, conjures clothes onto her, and hopes he'll forget the sight, no matter that he had little choice in it.

Encouraged and giddy, he hurries around her table and over to the next to repeat the process on Lupin's bones.

It takes him half an hour in total, but eventually Snape, James, Sirius, Lupin, and Lily's bodies lie on the tables, cold and dead but looking like they could be merely sleeping. He slumps against Snape's table, letting out a long breath and shaking slightly with the fading adrenaline of what he's done. He looks over to Kitty, making sure she's still asleep even though he knows she should sleep straight through until morning. He went to Draco and asked for a sleeping potion safe for children, claiming Kitty was having nightmares of her adopted parents deaths. It's not a complete lie; more than once in the past month she's woken in tears from nightmares, but they're not so bad she won't sleep again, at least as long as she has Kiwi and a candle in the room and the assurance that Harry is nearby. Draco gave him one, after asking if Harry has come to a decision about the two of them yet. Harry told him he needs another twenty four hours. He thinks Draco was suspicious at that, but he asked no questions and gave Harry the potion with instructions to give Kitty no more than three drops in with her night time glass of milk.

He turns his attention back to the people in front of him and straightens up. The next part is the most dangerous, for him at least. This is the part that could get him in some very serious trouble, if he even succeeds. He's surprised by how little he's worried about it; he's more concerned by the potential mistakes he may have made during the body-rebuilding. He's no biologist or doctor. He could have made serious mistakes in their physiology and have no idea until later, but he can only hope for the best.

He goes to each in turn and revives the bodies, starting the hearts and brains, getting blood flowing, organs working, and everything producing what it should be producing. He's encouraged when they each draw their first breath, startled when they all pass wind, and faintly embarrassed when the four men get erections. At least he can be certain that the blood is circulating properly.

For a few minutes, he just watches them come to life, colour flooding their cheeks, chests rising and falling, their bodies almost seeming to inflate slightly as they begin to work. Then he starts the hard part. He stands at the head of Sirius' table, the central of the five, closes his eyes, and makes a Wish.

It's unlike any Wish he's made before and the magic around him responds in ways he's never felt it before. He actually gasps as it turns both cold and hot at the same time. Something in the room _opens_ , though when he looks nothing has changed. He can just feel it, this doorway to a place that he knows, instinctively, is unpleasant and animal and something he can't understand. Out of it rushes four souls, two burning the same searing hot that Tyler's did, two others even hotter than that and distinctly lupine, and they rush into the bodies on the table.

The doorway snaps shut and vanishes, but the magic doesn't settle yet. A fifth soul appears from nowhere, but the rush of magic that accompanies it bursts through the room and whips around Harry until all he's aware of is pure, vibrant, terrifying magic, consuming him so much he forgets what he is and who he is and all he knows is magic.

And then it's over.

* * *

Slowly he becomes aware of himself. There's an almost forgotten feeling of weakness in his right side, the taste of blood and vomit in his mouth, and familiar sensations of disorientation and confusion. His body aches like he's run a marathon. He feels cold, hard floor underneath him and when he inhales he smells concrete, sweat, and, curiously enough, wet dogs.

"Harry, sweetheart? Can you hear me?"

He makes a noise that's somewhere between a grunt and a moan and forces his eyes open. It takes a minute to focus, but when he does he finds himself looking up at his mother, kneeling beside him with a worried expression on her face.

Her living, blood filled, breathing face.

"Hi, Mum," he greets raspily and tries to smile. He doesn't think he quite manages it.

"Don't you 'hi mum' me, mister. How could you do something so _stupid_?"

"Lils," a different voice scolds. "He's just had a seizure, give him a minute."

Harry tries to push himself into a sitting position, but his arms are too weak and he collapses back down. "Fucking angels," he mutters. "Supposed to have healed that."

"After what you just did, anyone would have a seizure," Lily replies, voice gentle again. "Just stay there for a moment."

"Kitty?"

"Fast asleep, though what on earth you were thinking—"

"Lils."

"She has a point, Sirius. What he did was dangerous enough without bringing a child into it."

Harry tries to sit up again and this time manages it. He looks over to Kitty first, checking she's alright before he looks around at the rest of the room's occupants. Snape sits on his table, legs dangling down, hands gripping the edge, and a faintly disapproving scowl on his face. James is on the floor at Snape's feet, sitting cross-legged and watching Harry calmly. Lupin is on the floor as well, legs in front of him and hands behind him to prop him up. Sirius is sprawled face down on his table, one arm dangling over the side, and he shoots Harry a grin when he looks at him.

A smile spreads across his face as delight bubbles in his chest. He feels out with his magic, reassuring himself with that, too, that each of them are alive.

But his cheer fades rapidly. The men are all as they should be, magic whirling around and into them as it does all wizards, feeling rougher around Snape and Lupin to mark them as werewolves, but on Lily—

"You're still a reaper."

She looks startled at this proclamation and looks down at herself as everyone's attention fixes on her. "I can't be. You put me in my body."

"But he didn't change your nature."

They all jump. Lily rises and Harry scrambles to his feet, staggering slightly but managing to stay upright as he turns to face the skeletal man in a black coat standing on the opposite side of the room to Kitty's bed. He has a cane in his right hand and a black leather bag in his left. Snape slips off his table and shifts to stand with James and Lupin behind him as they get to their feet as well, and Sirius joins them.

"Sir?" Lily inquires.

"A reaper comes from a soul touched by me and granted certain powers. It twists them away from their original species to a certain degree, and as the only person who can create reapers, I'm also the only person that can return them to their original form."

"Then I'm not really alive?"

"Well," Death says. "That really depends on one's definition of alive, doesn't it? Simply put, you're a reaper in a living human body. You retain the strengths and powers of a reaper, but the body _will_ age and die, at which point you will resume your duties."

Lily looks at her hands. "Wow," she murmurs.

"And us?" Snape asks Death. "Are we truly alive?"

Death's gaze falls on Harry who, despite already reassuring himself with magic, holds his breath in anticipation of the answer. "Yes."

Harry releases his breath in a rush, but then tenses when Death approaches him. His cane clicks against the concrete floor as he comes to eventually stand just in front of Harry.

"I told you before not to meddle in my realm, Harry."

Harry nods jerkily. "Yes, sir."

"Then why did you?"

"Because I can," he answers quietly, trying to keep his tone respectful even as his hands shake and he fears that Death's going to bare down on him at any moment for what he's done. "Angels and demons can bring the dead back to life. They have that power and use it. I have the power too, so I used it as well."

"For a price. Demons do anything for a price, but they do not raise the dead without cost. Even angels will not bring back just anyone, save for the fallen who ignore God's law. You know that."

Harry glances at Snape and James, remembering Gabriel's refusal to bring them back to life, then looks back at Death as he leans his cane against one of the tables and sets his bag on top of it. He opens it and takes out a glass dragon, and Harry inhales sharply, hearing an echoing noise from Snape. Harry itches to snatch the dragon away, but he's not that brave or foolish. Instead he watched with bated breath as Death holds it in both hands, and cries out with fear when the glass smashes and disappears, leaving Death holding a brightly glowing ball of white light. Lily gasps, Harry opens his mouth to ask what it is or beg mercy or apologise—he's not really sure which—but Death shoves the light into Harry's chest and the only thing to leave his mouth is a scream.

* * *

This time he wakes up perfectly away of everything around him, especially the face hovering over his own.

"You will never bring someone back to life again," Death says. It's not a request or even an order. It's a plainly stated fact and Harry can only nod. "I have put your soul back together," Death continues. "The next time you die, it will be the last and I will reap you myself."

And then he's gone.


	12. Chapter 11

Lily takes Death's place the moment he vanishes.

"Harry, your daughter just disappeared."

Harry sits up, head jerking around to look at the bed. Kitty and his bag are gone and he swears. "The portkey."

He Disapparates without explaining more, leaving the five of them exchanging confused looks. For a minute, they just stand in silence, and then James says, "My scars are gone."

Everyone looks at him as he pushes up his left sleeve to show an arm clear of either the scars of the Dark Mark or his self-inflicted injuries. Snape lifts a hand to his neck, feeling for the old scars he got from his fight with another werewolf on his second full moon, but they're gone. Lupin lifts his shirt to check himself.

"Are we still werewolves?" he wonders.

"I think he made my penis smaller."

Everyone looks at Sirius, who's peering down his trousers.

"We don't need to know about your genitals, Sirius," Snape tells him. Sirius looks up.

"But it's smaller!"

"I think my boobs are too," Lily remarks, looking down at her chest. "Not that I mind. I always wanted them a bit smaller."

"I always thought they were a good size," James says with a grin.

"You're married, Mr Potter," Lily reminds him, but she's smiling. James' grin disappears.

"God. Narcissa. This is going to be a hell of a shock."

"Nevermind the shock, what about the awkwardness?" Sirius asks, finally taking his attention away from his genitals. "Prongs, mate— _both_ your wives are alive now."

James' mouth drops and he turns pale, but Lily shakes her head.

"I'm not your wife, James. Narcissa is. I'm sure a court of law would agree."

"Even so," Sirius starts, but Lupin elbows him.

"Drop it, Padfoot."

There's a pop and Harry reappears, backpack slung over one shoulder and Kitty held against his other side, awake now but blinking sleepily, still holding Kiwi.

"Everything alright?" Lily asks and Harry nods.

"Just the emergency portkey I put on her to take her to her godfather in case Death killed me."

"You expected him to?" Snape asks sharply.

"Maybe. I knew it was a possibility."

"You risked orphaning your daughter—"

"Yes," Harry interrupts. "I did."

Snape silences his objection, though he's clearly not pleased, and asks instead, "And does my... g-granddaughter—" he stumbles on the word "—have a name?"

"Katrina, but she mostly prefers Kitty."

Whether because they're talking about her or because she's only just noticed, Kitty lifts her head, looking around and asking, "Daddy, who that?"

"This is..." He looks around at them all and his mouth curls into a faint smile. "Kitty, this is my family," he tells her. He shifts her and gestures to Lily. "That's my mum. She's your grandma."

Kitty's looks at her and Lily smiles, then looks surprised when Kitty's hair changes from light brown to vibrant red.

"She pretty."

Harry's smile widens. "Yes, she is. Just like you."

"She's a metamorphmagus?" Lily asks, and Harry nods then turns Kitty's attention to Snape.

"That's my dad. Your grandad."

Snape looks like he's still struggling to digest that.

"He's scawy."

Sirius sniggers and Snape scowls. "Shut up, Sirius."

"He's not scary," Harry assures Kitty. "He's just a bit angry because I did a bad thing to him."

"What bad thing?"

"I hurt him," Harry says, gaze on Snape. "Very badly."

Snape shakes his head. "It wasn't your fault. You were possessed. I know that."

"I—" Harry start, but Snape glowers.

"Not. Your. Fault."

"Listen to your dad," Sirius says, stalking forwards. "Now let me meet the pup. Hey there, Kitty. I'm Sirius."

Kitty blinks at him. Sirius' smile become a touch fixed.

"He's my godfather," Harry tells Kitty, which makes her perk up.

"Wike Tywer? Tywer's Kitty god-daddy," she tells Sirius.

"Yeah? Does Tyler have a last name?"

"Tyler Lyle," Harry tells him.

Snape raises an eyebrow. "Tyler Lyle? I do hope he's grown into a more responsible man than he was as a teenager."

"If you're talking about—" he mouths the word 'sex' "—then no. Also he's an ex-junkie and he hunts vampires for a living, but he's my only friend."

"That's the same Tyler Lyle who James and I caught you and Draco having a threesome with in your sixth year?" Sirius asks and Harry's cheeks burn as Lupin, Lily, and Snape look at him in surprise.

"Yes," he mutters. "Did you have to bring that up?"

Sirius grins. "Just making sure I can still embarrass you."

Harry glowers at him.

"Ignore your prat of a godfather," James says, coming forwards and elbowing Sirius. "He forgot all his manners while he was dead. Hey, Kitty. I'm James. I'm your daddy's friend."

"Hi," Kitty says shyly. Sirius grumbles.

"Why does he get a hi and I don't?"

"He's friendlier," Lupin replies, coming forwards as well. "Hello, Kitty, my name's Remus. I'm another friend of your dad."

Lupin just gets a slow blink, which makes Sirius go 'ha!', but Remus just smiles and steps back a bit, while Snape frowns suddenly.

"Harry, where's Kitty mother?"

"Mummy's 'ick," Kitty says before Harry can answer. "My other mummy's dead."

Everyone looks at Harry for explanation, and Harry squirms. "I'll explain later," he mutters while Kitty yawns. He makes a Wish and there's a clatter of four wands dropping onto one of the tables. Harry frowns at them. "Whose is missing?"

The five other adults go to the table, looking through the wands and picking up their own, all except Sirius.

"It was snapped," James remembers. "When you were killed. Lucius snapped it."

"You can borrow mine for the moment," Lily offers Sirius, putting it down. "I don't need it to Apparate. I assume you were going to suggest that?" she adds to Harry, who nods.

"If you can. I'll take you if not."

Snape flicks his wand and murmurs the Levitation Charm, making a table rise into the air a metre before setting it down, then he pockets the wand, turns on the spot, and disappears, only to reappear a few feet away. James and Lupin follow his lead, testing themselves, but Sirius shakes his head after attempting to levitate the table and only managing a few shaky inches off the floor.

"Thanks, Lils, but this wand is no good for me. I'll have to wait until I get a new one."

Lily nods, pocketing the wand, then runs her hands down her sides and changes her robe into Muggle clothes then Apparates, silently, from one end of the room to the other.

"So where are we going?" Snape asks Harry.

"Is it somewhere with food?" James adds. "I'm starving."

* * *

Snape waits in the hall of Harry's flat when Harry leaves Kitty's bedroom, pulling the door to but not closing it completely. She's already asleep again, the sleeping potion still working on her despite the rough awakening she had from the portkey and the excitement of meeting new family.

"If you're looking for the bathroom," Harry begins, but Snape shakes his head.

"I'm not. I wanted to talk to you alone."

"What about?"

"A lot of things. We have a lot we need to talk about, I think, starting with your faked death, but that'll take time, I know, so for now... I want to be sure you know I don't blame you for killing me, Harry."

Harry wraps his arms around himself. "I tried to stop it," he says quietly. "I fought so hard, but it was worse than Riddle possessing me before I killed him. I'm sorry I couldn't."

"I don't blame you," Snape says again. "You shouldn't blame yourself either."

Harry merely gives a one-shouldered shrug.

"I also..." Snape says hesitantly, prompting Harry to look up and find Snape's expression one of awkwardness. "I assume, if you've been in contact with Draco, that you know about my, ah... other children. All of them."

Harry nods. "Draco says you looked after them. I'm glad," he says, and smiles at Snape's wariness. "I mean it. I'm glad you looked after them and raised them well."

"Are you... jealous? Or angry, that I gave them what I didn't give you?" Snape asks cautiously.

"A bit jealous," Harry admits. "Maybe a lot. But I don't hate you for it, or them, and I'd be more angry if you hadn't done it right this time."

"Hey, Sev- ow!" James' voice comes from the kitchen, following by Lily's quieter voice.

"Harry's trying to put his little girl to sleep; keep your voice down."

Snape and Harry return to the kitchen to find James pouting as he cooks omelettes. Someone's enlarged Harry's round table to seat six, making the kitchen rather cramped, and Sirius and Remus are already digging into their own omelettes. James jerks an elbow towards one waiting at the table.

"That's yours," he says to Snape. "Lily doesn't get any because she's mean. You want one Harry?"

"No thanks," Harry says, fetching himself a glass.

"I'm not hungry anyway,", Lily says, "and nor am I mean."

"You hit me."

"I tapped you. Stop being a big baby."

"It hurt," James whines.

"You took worse hits in purgatory, James," Snape says, sitting down and digging into his omelette, then looks up when Harry drops his drink, spilling water and glass all over the floor. He doesn't seem to notice, staring in horror at Snape.

"You were in purgatory? I thought you were in Elsewhere."

Silence falls over the kitchen save for the hiss of the gas stove and the spitting of the oil in the pan. Lily sits up straight in her chair.

"Draco shouldn't have told you about that."

"If he hadn't I probably never would have found out I was powerful enough to bring you back," Harry answers distractedly. "What's this about purgatory?"

The other men exchange glances before eventually settling their gaze on Snape. Lily's eyes never leave Harry.

"We were in Elsewhere initially," Snape tells him. "Despite the rules, Lily took James and me there when we died. But after several months the emptiness of that place started to drive me mad. I requested that she take me to purgatory, where I should have gone. The others insisted on coming as well."

" _Why?_ "

"Because he's my friend and my alpha," James answers immediately. "I wasn't letting him go alone."

"I was kind of bored too," Sirius adds, finishing off his omelette and not looking up even as he says, "Elsewhere wasn't half as interesting without you there to give it life, kid."

"I didn't want to be left alone," Lupin explains when Harry looks at him.

"So you just took them to purgatory?" Harry accuses Lily. "Why would you do that?"

"Because they wanted me to. They are grown men, Harry. They can make their own decisions and it would have been selfish of me to refuse."

"It wasn't that bad, Harry," James tries to assure him only to get a disbelieving look.

"I've met leviathans. They come from purgatory so there's no way that place is nice."

James shrugs. "You got used to it, and we had each other. But we're out now, so what does it matter?"

Harry doesn't answer, but he scowls as he repairs his glass and refills it. He takes a seat between Lily and Lupin as James finishes cooking his own omelette, slides it onto a plate and brings it to the table, sitting between Lupin and Snape.

"I wonder if that Dean bloke made it out alive," he muses as he tucks in. "We never saw him again."

Sirius snorts. "He was trusting a vampire, he probably died the minute he walked through that portal."

"Not necessarily," Lupin counters. "Just because he was a vampire doesn't mean his information was wrong."

"Yeah, because vampires are so trustworthy."

"And if you recall, he had much the same attitude towards Severus and I. He's no more naturally distrustful just for being a vampire than we are for being werewolves."

Harry notices Sirius doesn't meet Lupin gaze as he mutters, "I wouldn't put money on him making it out. Or that angel."

"There was an angel in purgatory?" Harry asks. "That's a bit weird, isn't it? Should they be in heaven?"

"I don't think Castiel was your run of the mill angel," Lupin remarks.

"Castiel? He was in purgatory?"

Snape glances up. "You've met him?"

"A couple of times. He's human now. Does that mean you were talking about Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah, I think that was his name," Sirius confirms. "You know him?"

"We met a couple of times. I turned him into a toad."

"Harry!" Lily scolds even as James and Sirius laugh. "He's a Muggle."

"He already knew about magic and he kept calling me a witch. I did warn him. I said if he called me a witch again I'd turn him into a toad and he did, so I did. He got turned back. How do you know him anyway?"

"He's Dean Winchester. I've never met him," she admits, "but of course I've heard about him and his brother. Did you turn him into a toad too?"

Harry almost smiles. "No, Sam's alright. He's _huge_ though. He's like a giant."

"You're just short, kid," Sirius teases. Harry pulls a face at him, but shakes his head.

"No, but I mean he's really tall. He's taller than Dean, who's probably taller than you."

Sirius pulls a face then, making James smirk and Lupin smile.

"Yes, Dean was taller than Sirius as I recall."

"By an inch," Sirius mutters.

"So you met Dean in purgatory then? And he got out?"

"Presumably," Snape answers. "He went through a portal that only allowed humans through, but this was according to a vampire, so there's every chance it merely killed him."

"When?"

"A while back. It's impossible to tell time in purgatory."

"More than a month?"

"Definitely."

"Then he got out; I met him a month ago. Why didn't you go through it?" he asks Sirius and James.

"We were dead," James answers. "It was only our souls in purgatory, but Dean was there in body as well. Castiel theorised that if we went through the portal we'd just be ghosts on earth."

"Cas has been wrong about other things," Harry says, thinking about the angels he made fall. Lily reaches over to squeeze his hand.

"We're all here now. So why don't you tell us about Kitty and what she meant about her mothers."

* * *

Draco is woken Sunday morning by his house elf, who almost gets trampled when she tells him Harry's waiting in the dining room and Draco scrambles out of bed. He doesn't bother to even pull a dressing gown on before rushing out, so he's wearing only his boxers when he reaches the dining room, where he stumbles to a halt just inside. Harry is slumped in a chair, shoulders drooped, eyes closed, entire body screaming that he's exhausted, but when he opens his eyes and looks up, there's a gleam in them that Draco hasn't seen in two decades and when he smiles there's not a hint of sadness to it.

"Yes."

"Yes?" Draco repeats stupidly.

"Yes, I will move in with you and reveal myself and try to get the courts to commute my prison sentence."

Draco's knees go weak. He manages to cross the room and half collapses into Harry's lap, pressing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. He loops his arms around Harry's neck and feels Harry's wrap around his waist. Draco's heart is so light he feels like he could float away.

"I love you," he murmurs against Harry's mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too. But Draco—Draco, stop, there's something else."

Draco pulls back, the lightness in his chest growing heavy. "What?"

"It's, um... you should sit. On a chair."

Draco silently shifts to another chair, staring at Harry.

"You know how I brought Tyler back to life after he fell?"

"Yes," Draco says slowly, wondering if perhaps the other man has suddenly dropped dead again.

"I sort of did it again."

"What killed him this time?"

"No, it wasn't Tyler. I, um... this might be a bit hard to believe, but I... sort of... brought my parents back to life. And James and Sirius and Remus."

Draco stares at him. And stares. And stares. Harry squirms and doesn't meet his eyes.

"Harry, you... are you serious?"

Harry nods. "They're at my flat right now. Dad wants you to do a full medical exam on them, to make sure they're properly healthy and all there, because I had to rebuild their bodies just from their bones."

"You... rebuilt their bodies. From bones."

Harry nods again. He looks at Draco with concern and Draco can't blame him. It's one thing to revive someone who's only just died from a bash to the head. It's something else entirely to rebuild bodies and bring people back to life two, twenty, and thirty years after they died. The whole idea makes him feel light-headed and he slumps in his chair.

"Will you?"

Draco looks at him, blinks, then rises to his feet. "I need to get dressed," he says, and leaves with Harry's concerned gaze on his back. He takes a quick shower and by the time he's dressed, he's mostly past the shock and moved on to curiosity and worry.

"How certain are you they're not inferi or other undead?" he asks Harry the moment he walks into the dining room.

"Pretty certain. They feel human to my magic and Death said they're alive."

"You met Death again?"

Harry grimaces. "He wasn't exactly happy that I brought the dead back to life."

Draco looks at him worriedly. "What does Death do to people who upset him?"

"He put my soul back together."

"But that's a good thing, isn't it?"

Harry shrugs, not quite meeting his gaze. "I guess. It means I'll die, properly. He said the next time I die, he's coming for me himself."

Draco leans forwards, grabbing Harry's hand and squeezing it. "So don't die for a good long time. Let's go to your place."

* * *

"Huh."

Harry lifts his head from his arms and looks across the kitchen to where Draco is casting diagnostic and analysing spells on Lily, a frown on his face.

"What? Is something wrong?"

Draco's frowns deepens. "I'm not sure. It's almost..."

" _What_?"

Draco steps back, folding his arms over his chest and glancing over. "During training we did diagnostics on patients who'd been Kissed by Dementors as part of recognising the minor differences. People who have been Kissed often read as perfectly healthy, especially at the beginning, but there are little tells and minor points in the diagnostics that give it away."

"What's that got to do with Mum? She hasn't been Kissed."

Draco looks back at Lily. "You read like you have been," he says almost apologetically. "For the most part, you seem healthy, but there are little irregularities."

Lily nods, utterly unperturbed. "Expected," she says, smiling at Draco's surprise. Harry is about to object, but Lily shakes her head at him. "Remember what Death said, Harry. I'm still a reaper. It's hardly a surprise I mess up a typical diagnostics. As long as my body is functioning fine, then it's not an issue."

"You are," Draco assures her, moving around the table to drop into a chair beside Harry. "Like the others, you'll need to keep an eye on things for a while and get checked if there's any problems, but as far as I can tell you all seem to be perfectly healthy. Which is weird all on its own."

Snape shifts in his own seat. "If we're healthy, then we can go home."

"You might sound a little more enthusiastic, Severus," Lupin remarks. "You'll be able to see your children again. Your other children," he amends with a glance at Harry. "And Hermione."

"For which I'm eager. I'm not eager to deal with the trouble the Ministry will give us when we want to change our status to living."

Draco grimaces. "Yeah, that wasn't fun."

"We should get on with it then," Sirius says, but Draco shakes his head.

"It's Sunday. Ministry's closed."

"We can still see our families," James says. "We should meet them first. I want to see my kids, Draco. It's not like Narcissa hasn't dealt with people coming back from the dead before."

"Yes, but last time it was because my father sold his soul. What's she going to think when you turn up?"

"He has a point," Snape says. "Hermione and Narcissa are likely to think the worst when they see us, James. They need warning."

"So warn them," James says to Draco, but Snape fixes his gaze on Harry.

"You should go with Draco and explain it."

"Me? But—I killed you!"

"A demon killed me and they don't know that you were in any way involved, presumably."

"You need to meet them at some point anyway," Draco adds to Harry. "You said you were going to come out to the public, remember?"

"I know, I just... does it have to be me that tells them about you guys? Shouldn't Draco do it?"

Snape shakes his head. "Do it together. Hermione and Narcissa will want to know how we're alive and just hearing it from Draco won't be enough."

"I guess."

Lily holds up a hand when Draco and Harry start to rise. "Hang on. Severus, James, I know you're eager to see your families, but Harry needs sleep. As do the rest of you boys."

"Boys?" Lupin repeats, amused. "Every one of us is older than you, Lily."

"Physically, maybe, but I'm the oldest technically."

Sirius waves a hand in the air. "I'm two months older than you."

"Doesn't count," Snape quips. "You stopped aging when you were eight."

"Bite me, Snapey."

"Don't call me that."

"You love it."

Snape fingers his wand. "I need to practice my hexes, check my spell casting has revived as well as my body. Are you volunteering, Black?"

"That's not fair; I don't have a wand."

"You—"

_BANG!_

All of them whirl towards the sitting room, where the TV is smoking and Kitty stands before it, Lily's wand in her hand and a startled look on her face before she begins crying. Harry leaps up, rushing through and scooping her up, taking the wand from her and dropping it on the sofa.

"Shh. Shh, Kitty, it's alright. Are you hurt?"

She doesn't answer but she doesn't seem to be. He keeps comforting her as Snape comes over, waving away the smoke and peering at the back of the TV.

"Blown," he says. "Maddy's done it more than once. It can't be fixed."

"Not mine anyway."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn't have left my wand lying around," Lily apologises.

"It's fine. Kitty, calm down, it's alright."

"TV bwoked," she sobs.

"I know, but it was an accident."

"Daddy fix?"

"I can't, Kitty."

"Daddy fix!"

"I can't. Magic doesn't work on electric things, Kitty."

She sniffs and pouts.

"Why don't you go back to the bedroom and play?"

"No."

"Do you want to draw?"

"No."

"What do you want to do?"

"TV."

Harry sighs and shoots a glower at Sirius, who's looking amused. "Kitty, the TV's broke, you can't watch it. You have to play with your toys."

He puts her down, but she stands there and looks up at him hopefully. "Park?"

"We went to the park yesterday."

"Park

"No."

"Park!"

"I said no!" he snaps then sighs, rubbing his face. "I'm sorry, I—"

Lily sweeps in, crouching in front of Kitty. "Would you like me to take you to the park, Kitty? And your daddy can stay here and rest a bit."

Kitty looks between her and Harry, deciding whether her desire to go to the park is bigger than her wariness of a new person, but eventually she nods, though looks to Harry for confirmation and he nods as well. Kitty beams.

"Go fetch your socks and shoes then," Lily tells her. "And your daddy can tell me where the park is."

Kitty runs off to the bedroom and Harry gives Lily directions to the nearest play park, asking if she's sure and offering to come with them.

"No, you'll stay here and at least try to get some sleep. You're shattered, Harry. I can look after my granddaughter for an hour or so."

"Would you mind me coming?" Draco asks. Lily looks to Harry, who shrugs.

"If Kitty agrees, I don't mind."

Kitty comes back with a pair of trainers and clambers onto the sofa, wiggling her feet impatiently. She's forgotten socks and Harry conjures a pair, crouching to put them on her and asking if she minds Draco going to the park as well. Kitty looks at Draco for a long moment, and Draco does his best not to look scary.

"'Kay."

Draco smiles and she returns it shyly. Harry finishes lacing her shoes then goes to the kitchen and fetches a carton of juice and two bottles of water from it, which he sticks in his bag before handing it to Lily.

"My wallet's in there, if you need money. There's a shop nearby, but you shouldn't—and if the kid with the buzz cut is there, avoid him. He's a bully and his mum does nothing about it."

"We'll manage. Get some rest. You ready, Kitty?"

"Uh huh."

"Come on, then."

She takes her hand and they go to the door that Draco holds open, but Kitty lets go of Lily's hand with a quiet, "Oh!" and runs back to the bedroom. When she returns, she's carrying Kiwi. Harry's about to tell her she can't take the bear to the park, but Kitty comes to him and holds her out.

"Kitty back soon."

Harry can't help cracking a smile. "I'll see you in a bit."

She smiles at him then hurries over to Lily, taking her hand again. "Park!"

Harry watches them leave, smile still on his face.

"You're good with her," Snape comments, a faint smile on his own face.

Harry shrugs. "I do my best."

"She clearly likes you."

"Yeah."

"Lils is right though," Sirius says. "You look shattered, kid. You should get some sleep."

Harry looks at him, amused. "You know you can't call me kid anymore. I'm nearly thirty-five."

"I'll call you what I like. Go sleep, or Lils might decide to hold your daughter hostage until you do."

"That's a joke," Lupin says when concern mars Harry's face, elbowing Sirius in the ribs. "Lily won't kidnap Kitty."

Harry nods and sets Kiwi on an armchair before transforming into a fox and jumping on with her, turning in a circle before curling up. He watches Snape flick his wand at the sofa to enlarge it then drops onto it. James settles next to him, Remus sits beside him, and Sirius turns into Padfoot and sits on their feet. Harry closes his eyes, listening to the others talk quietly and with no intention of actually sleeping, but an hour and a half later, Lily, Kitty, and Draco come back to find all five of them fast asleep.

* * *

Hermione enters Malfoy Manor on Sunday afternoon with curiosity. She's seen Draco on occasion since his resurrection, through necessity when her children are friends with his siblings, and seen him less so since James and Snape's deaths, so they've never garnered the kind of relationship that involved visiting one another, especially when Draco spent so long blaming Snape for Harry's death. She and Narcissa only ever became what one could tentatively call friends, but after James died Narcissa became very withdrawn and Hermione usually only sees her now when their kids play together.

So she's not sure why she receives a polite but urgent request from Draco asking her to come to Malfoy Manor that afternoon and insisting that she doesn't bring the children. She manages to get her parents to keep the kids after their weekly Sunday lunch and heads to Malfoy Manor alone, Apparating to the front and getting greeted at the door by his house elf and shown through to the drawing room. Draco is there, of course, and an unfamiliar man with dark hair hiding his face, and so is Narcissa, her back as straight and robes as fine as they've always been, but there's white in her blond hair that wasn't there two years ago.

Draco stands to greet her, gesturing to a chair and pouring her a tea when she sits. She accepts it, settling in her chair and sipping at the drink.

"What's this about?" she asks. Draco, she's surprised to see, looks nervous.

"It's about Harry Evans."

Next to Hermione, Narcissa frowns. "Draco, what can be so urgent about him?"

"I didn't sell my soul," Draco says, which Hermione thinks is a strange thing to say until her brain reminds her that almost ten years ago Lucius Malfoy sold his soul to bring Draco back from the dead, and she sits up straighter in her chair at the same moment Narcissa sets her cup on her saucer with a clatter.

"Draco—"

"I promise you, Mother. I didn't."

The man in the other chair shifts and Hermione's attention snaps to him as she realises that before now, she's been ignoring him because of a Notice Me Not Charm. She stares at him now as he lifts his head and a mismatched pair of eyes stare out of a face that's older than she remembers, but undeniably familiar, especially when her gaze flicks up to the distinctive scar on his forehead.

"Merlin," she hears Narcissa breathe, which is the aristocratic equivalent of shrieking.

"Hi," Harry says awkwardly.

Anger surges through Hermione and before she even realises what she's doing, her tea cup hits the floor and smashes while she leans across the space between them and punches him soundly on the nose.

And then her body jerks back into her seat and she's stuck to it while Harry stands in front of his own chair, the blood dripping down his face not detracting from the frankly terrifying expression on his face.

"Harry!" Draco hisses, standing beside him and putting a calming hand on his arm. An arm, Hermione notices, that's not stick-thin like she remembers him. None of Harry is, in fact. For once he actually seems to be a healthy weight and he stands straight, comfortable in his body and ready to use his newfound strength. Standing there, he doesn't even look like Harry and if it weren't for the eyes and the scar, she thinks she might not even recognise him.

At least until he slumps, the battle-ready expression on his face giving way to a more familiar look of almost fearful contrition, shoulders drooping so his posture screams apologies and begs to be left alone, reminding her very suddenly of the way he stood in the month after he was freed from the very house she's in now. She's released from her chair as Harry drops back into his and she instantly draws her wand.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologises quickly but sincerely. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"She's the one that should apologise," Draco counters. "I hope you've got a bloody good reason for hitting him, Granger."

"You're alive," Hermione says to Harry.

"That's no reason to hit him!"

Hermione ignores Draco. "You have been all this time, haven't you? You faked your death."

Harry nods. Tears fill Hermione's eyes.

"Do you know what that did to Severus? To your father?"

Harry looks away, eyes closed and expression guilty.

"I assume you know about him."

Another nod.

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" she demands.

"Granger—"

"Shut up, Malfoy. I want an explanation, Harry. What reason do you have for causing him so much pain?"

"I thought it was better," he says quietly, opening his eyes to look at her apologetically. "I was a wreck, Hermione, I know that. I was half-mad, a fugitive, and dangerous. Dad didn't want me around, not with baby Madeleine born. He never said it, but I know it's true, and you didn't either. You didn't want me putting her in danger, so I took myself away. You and Maddy and Dad were better off without me. I didn't mean to hurt him."

It makes sense in a way. Hermione understands his reasoning, but all she can remember is how broken Snape was afterwards and the months he spent drinking. She shakes her head, wiping at her eyes then turning an accusing gaze on Draco.

"How long have you known?"

"Three years."

"Longer than Severus has been dead," Narcissa says, finally speaking. She's put cup and saucer on a table, but her face is pale with shock. "You never told him, did you, Draco?"

"No, because Harry asked me not to."

Hermione shakes her head, hurt and angry at what she's learnt and wishing she never knew. She gets to her feet, intending to walk out, but Harry speaks up.

"Hermione, wait. There's something else I need to tell you."

She turns to him, making sure all the anger, betrayal and hurt is on her face. "What can you possibly have to say right now that you think I want to hear?"

"A week ago, I found out I can raise the dead."

"Don't be ridiculous," Narcissa says sharply. "That's impossible."

"So is surviving six years in the ground, but I managed it. I've recently discovered that I've got more power than even I ever knew. I..." He shrugs and almost looks embarrassed. "I'm practically a god."

"You've grown arrogant, Harry," Hermione says. "There are no gods."

"Actually all the gods are real, although apparently a whole bunch of them were killed about five years ago, and the Judeo-Christian god has done a bunk and no one's seen him in millennia, but he does sometime bring people back to life."

"You're mad. You've gone completely mad."

He doesn't look offended by this accusation. "Not completely. Maybe a bit. But I'm not lying. I've got more power than angels and demons. I can create entire universes and I _can_ raise the dead. Not just to make inferi or anything like that, but actually bring people completely back to life, like Draco was."

"Harry, are you offering what I think you're offering?" Narcissa asks.

"If you're asking if I'm offering to bring James and my dad back to life, no, I'm not offering. I've already done it."

The silence that fills the drawing room is so heavy Hermione imagines she can feel it weighing on her shoulders, threatening to make her knees buckle and drive her to the floor. Narcissa is actually gaping, something Hermione never thought the other woman even capable of, and when she speaks, her voice is little more than a whisper.

"Where is he?"

"At my flat. He's—"

"Bring him to me!" Narcissa surges up from her chair, pale cheeks flooding with colour as she stares at Harry. "Bring me my husband!"

Harry holds up a hand in a gesture to 'wait', lets his eyes close partially and his lips move in a silently murmured countdown, and then without a sound two figures appear in the drawing room. Harry opens his eyes and looks up, but Hermione doesn't notice, her attention fixed entirely on Snape. He doesn't look exactly as she remembers. There's no grey in his hair, his face is a touch younger than it should be, and the scars on his jaw and neck are gone.

"Hermione..."

She steps back, shaking her head. "You're not—you can't be."

Narcissa and James have no such doubts. Narcissa crosses the space between them, throws her arms around James and kisses him firmly on the mouth while his arms wrap around her waist and pull her tight against him.

"Hermione?"

She shakes her head again and takes another step back. "Prove it," she whispers. "Prove yourself."

"Better an unloaded gun than a bullet proof shield," Snape says and Hermione's knees finally give out, but Snape crosses the room and catches her before she falls, pulling her against a body she forgot the feel of, one arm around her waist, the other cradling the back of her head.

"It's really you," she says, clinging to him. "Are you really alive?"

"Yes. Death himself has said we are and Draco did a healer's check on all of us. I'm alive, Hermione. It's me."

She grips him harder, burying her face in his shoulder and letting out a sob. Narcissa draws back from James slightly, looking over.

"Severus, did you just says 'all of us'? Who else is there?"

Snape glances at Harry and Narcissa's attention goes to him. "Who else have you brought to life?"

"My mum, my godfather, and Remus Lupin."

Narcissa pulls away from James. "Lily Potter is alive?"

"Lily Evans," James says. "You're my wife, Narcissa. Not her, not anymore."

"Does she agree with that?"

"Yes," he says firmly. "I promise you, Narcissa. This changes nothing between us. I love you and you're my wife."

Narcissa turns to Hermione. "Will the law agree with that?"

Hermione considers it. "I think so. Mrs—Lily's death should have voided the marriage contract between her and James, so yours is perfectly legal, even with her resurrection. She might be able to argue it, but I think a court would come down on your side."

"She won't," Harry says. "Mum doesn't love James any more."

"So you've got nothing to worry about, Cissy," James says, pulling her to him again.

"If it's all the same to you, I would like to hear assurance straight from her."

James looks to Harry, who shrugs. Once again he counts down from five before Lily appears in the room. Hermione pulls away from Snape slightly, looking at the other woman with interest. She's rather eager to meet Harry's mother.

"Is everything alright?" Lily asks. "I thought you were only going to bring James and Severus."

"I would like a word with you," Narcissa says.

"Ah," Lily says. "Mrs Potter, if you're concerned about my relationship with your husband, you needn't be. I have no intention of trying to rekindle a romantic relationship with him and I assure you I hold nothing against you for being his wife. But I do intend to continue being his friend."

Narcissa nods and slips her arm through James'. James smiles and kisses her hair, looking utterly content to have her by his side. Hermione watches Lily and has to conclude that either she's telling the truth or the other woman is an incredible actress. She is surprised when Lily's attention turns to her.

"You're Hermione Granger."

Hermione nods and Lily smiles, coming over and holding out a hand. "I'm Lily. I've wanted to meet you for a long time."

Hermione takes her hand by instinct. "You have?"

"I became a reaper when I died," Lily explains, reading Hermione's confusion. "I kept watch over Harry on my days off so I've known about you since you were about twelve. You always seemed like a brilliant girl and I watched over his siblings while he was faking his death, so I've seen you as an adult and you seem just as brilliant. I'd love to get to know you. I think we could be great friends."

"O-oh," Hermione stutters, and Snape sniggers.

"You're startling her, Lily."

"Sorry," Lily apologises to Hermione with a grimace that she's more used to seeing on Harry's face. "But when I'm registered as alive and everything's sorted, we should get coffee and talk one day."

Shock sliding into amusement now, Hermione nods. "Sounds good."

* * *

When Harry Apparates Tyler to his flat that evening, he sends the man straight to the bathroom so he can puke into the toilet instead of all over the floor. When Tyler comes out, he leans against the wall at the entrance to the living room, gives incredible looks at Lily, Sirius, and Lupin—Snape and James are still with their families—then rests his eyes on Harry.

"You're mental. Also a little bit terrifying."

Harry gives a wry smile and shrugs. "How was the family reunion?"

"Could have been worse, could have been better," Tyler answers, moving further into the room, taking a glance at the full seats then settling himself on the floor and immediately getting a lapful of two year old as Kitty abandons her colouring book and crawls over to him. "Cid forgives me, Layla doesn't, Dylan and Olivia are suspicious about me getting my magic back."

Sirius leans forwards in his seat. "What do you mean by that?"

"I lost my magic to a vampire when I was sixteen. Harry there gave it back about a year ago. I told them it came back on its own though," he adds to Harry. Sirius and Lupin looked at Harry with identical expressions of impressed incredulity while Harry clears his throat and flushes slightly, but Tyler draws their attention again.

"Can I ask you guys something? What's it like being dead?" he asks when they nod. "I never got chance to move on."

Lupin's gaze snaps back to Harry. "You brought him back to life as well?"

"Yes, but not like you guys. He was only dead for like a minute. It's how I found out I could do it."

"Always full of surprises," Sirius mutters, but answers Tyler, "It's mostly dull. I don't really remember much of heaven, Elsewhere was alright until Harry left then it got boring, and purgatory..."

He trails off, unable to find a word, and Harry's sees something flicker in his eyes that reminds him of the look Sirius used to get when he talked about Azkaban.

"Purgatory was dark," Lupin says and Harry notices he doesn't look at Sirius. "It's an unpleasant place."

Tyler frowns. "But I thought only mon- uh... non-human creatures went to purgatory; why were you there, Sirius? Also, what's Elsewhere?"

"Because they're stupid and asked to go there," Harry answers. "They were perfectly safe in Elsewhere, which is an alternate earth for dead souls, but Dad decided he wanted to leave and they all went with him. They told me earlier," he adds when Tyler looks at him in surprise.

"Right." He looks like he wants to ask Sirius and Lupin more, but refrains, noticing the clear discomfort between the two men. In his lap, Kitty is falling asleep and Harry gets up, taking her from him.

"Bedtime for you, I think."

Kitty starts to object, but yawns halfway through. She still makes token objections when he changes her into her pyjamas, but when he settles her in bed she holds up her favourite book—Polar Bear Night. Harry takes it from her, but sets it at the end of the bed, ignoring her pout and pulling her onto his lap.

"Daddy?" Kitty says, realising that something's different. He brushes the hair back from her forehead, still the same vibrant red as Lily's while her eyes are bluish-purple.

"Kitty, Daddy has to go away for a while tomorrow."

She frowns at him and her eyes darken to a deeper shade of blue. "Daddy go 'way?"

"Yes. I have to see some important people."

"Kitty come?"

"No, Kitty can't come. You're going to stay here and Tyler's going to look after you until I come back."

"Daddy back soon?"

"As soon as I can," he promises, "but, Kitty, it won't be in one day. Tyler's going to put you to sleep tomorrow."

"Tywer wead stowy?"

"Yes, he'll read you a story."

"'Kay. Stowy now."

He kisses her hair, tucks her in, and picks up the book. He doesn't think she understands precisely what he's saying and just hopes he won't be gone for long.

* * *

Cyril Calais has been Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for seventeen years. He takes over after Voldemort's downfall, appointed by Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, and he runs it efficiently and brilliantly, cleaning out the mess of corrupt and dirty Aurors and officials that fill the place under Preston Yaxley's command. He's proud of his work and he intends to keep the department running as smoothly and cleanly for the foreseeable future as he has done for the past decade, so he can one day see his son Sebastian, currently an Auror, take his place and run it just as brilliantly. Part of ensuring such efficiency, Cyril believes, is being an admirable leader, which includes not only good leadership but tidy appearances and, most importantly, punctuality.

So at precisely eight o'clock on Monday the 6th of July 2015, Cyril enters his office with a steaming mug of coffee in hand and sits down with the secure notion that he's the prompt and collected boss that his employees want to model themselves after. He accepts memos from his assistant, sips at his coffee, and spend the first two minutes of his workday feeling happy and productive, sure that his day will go as smoothly as always. Admittedly, in the DMLE a smooth day is one with no bizarre murders or meteor showers causing wizards to lose their minds for a few hours with no explanation.

At two minutes past eight, Hermione Granger knocks on his door. He greets her with a warm smile and gestures to a chair that she doesn't take, which is when some instinct in him says he should put down his coffee and prepare for the possibility that it's not going to be a smooth Monday. Hermione Granger is one of his best employees. She's worked in the department for three years and Cyril's rarely seen a worker as diligent, thorough, and smart as Hermione. The only thing about Hermione that Cyril dislikes is that she never married the father of her children, but he keeps that to himself and doesn't admit that he's shocked when her productivity at work doesn't drop half as much as he expects when Severus Snape dies, and picks back up surprisingly quickly.

"How can I help you this morning, Ms Granger?"

"Sir, I'm sure you recall Draco Malfoy and his situation some years back."

Cyril's hardly going to forget him. People coming back from the dead aren't common so he pays attention when they do.

"Of course. Is this about his father? We have to move him from Azkaban at some point for when those... hellhounds, was it? Come for him."

"Yes, sir, but no, we don't need to move him until October."

"Right. So, about Mr Malfoy...?"

"It's happened again."

Cyril frowns. "I'm sorry? What's happened again?"

"People being brought back from the dead."

Cyril wants to groan. He doesn't. "We need to destroy all evidence of demons and demon deals. We can't have dead people popping up all over the place. Who is it this time?"

"They weren't brought back by demon deal, sir. Did you want to call Lisa Sparrow from the DoM before I continue?"

Cyril doesn't. He doesn't like Lisa Sparrow because she's one of the few people to have been put into power during Voldemort's reign and stayed there afterwards, which as far as Cyril's concerned makes her untrustworthy. But the dead coming back to life is, unfortunately, right in the Department of Mysteries territory, so he gets up and goes to his fireplace, kneeling in it to call the Department of Mysteries. Lisa Sparrow isn't in yet ( _of course not_ , he thinks, _that would be too efficient_ ) and he reluctantly calls her home instead, where he's annoyed to get told by her husband that Lisa has just left for work. He sends off an interdepartmental memo instead and spends ten minutes making small talk with Hermione until Lisa arrives, still wearing her travelling cloak and carrying a bag on her shoulder and coffee in her hand.

"Calais," she greets coolly, then says more warmly, "Hermione. Nice to see you. Are you ready to come work for me yet?"

Irritatingly, Hermione smiles. "Maybe in the future."

"Near future, I hope. So, what's this about dead men walking?"

"They're in my office," Hermione tells them.

"Names?" Cyril asks and Hermione takes a deep breath.

"Severus Snape, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Lily Evans... and Harry Evans."

Which is when Cyril Calais realises his day is going to be as far from smooth as it can possibly get.


	13. Chapter 12

"No."

Harry, hands cuffed behind him as he stands surrounded by Aurors on the pier in front of Azkaban prison, peers past Cyril Calais' shoulder at Annabeth Parker.

"Excuse me?" Cyril says.

"We're not holding him," Annabeth says.

"Warden Parker, you're an employee of the Ministry and this is a criminal who needs incarcerating. At the very least, he needs holding until his trial."

"All due respect, Mr Calais, but if you insist on holding Harry Evans here, I will quit immediately."

"Ditto," says Dayton Nix, standing beside Annabeth.

"Where exactly to do you expect us to hold him then?" Cyril asks angrily. "This is the only prison in Britain."

Annabeth shrugs. "As long as it's somewhere he can't hurt my guards or prisoners, I don't care. I haven't forgotten what he was like ten years ago and I'm not putting up with him now. If you want him under guard, _you_ do it. You have holding cells in the Ministry."

The look the Aurors and Cyril exchange make it clear that they're no happier about having Harry there than Annabeth is about having him at Azkaban.

"I'll take this to Minister Shacklebolt," Cyril threatens.

"You do that. I'll tell him the same thing I told you, Calais: if Evans is held here, I will quit."

* * *

Harry sits in Kingsley Shacklebolt's office and tries to look unthreatening. He doesn't consider himself all that threatening in the first place, but after the reactions of the Aurors and Azkaban guards, he realises that most of the people around him are influenced by his power far more than his appearance.

Kingsley, as far as Harry can remember from the few times they met, hasn't changed the slightest in twenty years. He's still big, bald, and sporting a gold hoop in one ear, and he looks at Harry with a frown. Harry's not sure whether he's scared by Harry's power or not, which, Harry supposes, is probably a sign of a good leader. If he is scared, it wouldn't do him any good to show it to the people who work for him.

"We don't want to let you go," he says in his deep voice.

"It doesn't seem like anyone wants to hold me either, though," Harry points out, squirming slightly. Sitting with his hands cuffed behind him isn't particularly comfortable, but he's trying to obey the law so he doesn't remove them, as much as he wants to.

"No," Kingsley agrees. "Which is why we're putting you under house arrest until your trial, which we'll schedule for as soon as possible."

"House arrest? I'll be confined to my flat?"

"You have a home?"

"I have a flat where I live, but it's in Italy and I share it."

"With whom?"

"My daughter and sometimes her godfather."

Kingsley leans forwards, resting his arms on his desk. "You have a daughter? How old?"

"Two and a half."

"Where is she now?"

"At home, with her godfather."

"Where's her mother?"

"I don't know. America somewhere last I checked. She's not a part of Kitty's life. Am I going to be staying at my flat?"

Kingsley frowns. "No. We can't have you staying out of the country. You'll be relegated to a Ministry safe house and left under watch by a rotation of guards. We would appreciate it if you didn't kill any of them."

"I don't intend to. Do I get visitors?"

Kingsley raises an eyebrow.

"Azkaban prisoners get visitors," Harry points out. "I didn't want my daughter visiting me there, but if I'm going to be held at a house then it wouldn't be so bad."

Kingsley looks at him thoughtfully. "You have no intention of staying in Azkaban if the verdict at your trial is imprisonment, do you?"

Harry hesitates, then admits, "No. I would leave the country again and start life somewhere else."

"Start? It seems you've already got a life in Italy—a daughter, her godfather, a home. You've been gone for ten years; why are you even here now, Mr Evans?"

"Because Draco Malfoy asked me to."

"If I released you now, would you even turn up to a trial?"

Harry bristles, though he supposes it's probably a valid concern. "Yes. I want a life in England, with my family, and I don't want to pretend to be someone else while I do it. This trial is my only chance at that."

Kingsley considers him for a while, his expression undiscernable, and eventually looks down, shifting some files on his desk. "You'll be put in a safe house. I'll allow two hours a day for your daughter to visit, but I want the name of her godfather so we can run background on him before letting him come."

Harry doubts Tyler will appreciate an Auror investigation into him, given his lifestyle, so asks, "Can Draco Malfoy bring her?"

Kingsley looks at him. "You would let Mr Malfoy take your daughter from her godfather?"

Harry frowns. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Given his family—"

"Draco isn't his father," Harry interrupts sharply. "He never has been and I should know because I've spent a lot of time around both of them. Draco is a good man with a home and a respectable job. You've got no reason to distrust him."

"Is there a reason you don't want the girl's godfather bringing her?"

"He doesn't travel well, he can't Apparate, and there's no fireplace in my flat. Look, who looks after Kitty when I don't isn't really any of your concern, is it? You just want to make sure whoever brings her to the safe house isn't dangerous or anything, so you can do your background check on Draco and he can bring Kitty to see me."

Kingsley nods. "Very well." He picks his wand up from the desk and flicks it at the door, which opens to let in a handful of Aurors. Kingsley stands, taking a manila folder from his desk and handing it to one of the Aurors. "Hold Mr Evans here until his trial. Hammond, contact Draco Malfoy to arrange for him to bring Mr Evans' daughter for visiting. Mr Evans—" Kinglsey looks at him as Harry gets to his feet, an Auror on either side of him "—try not to kill anyone."

* * *

It takes considerable effort on Harry's part not to throw off the chains that wrap around his arms and legs as he sits in Courtroom Ten a few days later. He can see the runes etched into them, sickeningly familiar runes that should bind his powers if not for the runes he knows are carved into his own bones. Still, he makes a Wish for the water some reporter is about to drink to turn to orange juice and is glad to see the woman spill it down her chin in surprise. Then he feels a bit guilty for making her spill juice down her front and he scowls in irritation; since Death repaired his soul, he feels things a lot more, constantly noticing emotions that he didn't feel before at the tiniest little things and the emotions he did have now feel amplified.

Satisfied his magic is free, he turns his attention to the rest of the room. Dark stone walls rise up all around him, torches throwing flickering light over the numerous people sitting in the levelled wooden benches that are along each wall. Those in front of him are filled with people wearing plum-coloured robes with a silver W worked onto the left of the chest. The rest of the benches are crammed full of spectators in clothes of all varieties. Their expressions are just as varied, but all fixed on Harry. Some look intrigued, others sceptical, and more than a few angry. Lily and Snape are there—and a little part of him delights at seeing them, two parents both alive and side by side—and so is Sirius, Lupin, Draco, Hermione, James, and Narcissa. All of them, save Narcissa and Snape, have expressions of concern, though Sirius grins when Harry catches his eye and Draco manages a weak smile. Narcissa's face is perfectly clear of emotion and Harry has no idea what she might hope the outcome of this trial is. Snape's face, meanwhile, is set into the same heavy scowl that used to terrify classrooms of children.

At the front centre of the benches, Kingsley Shacklebolt stands up and silence falls over the room.

"Harry Evans," he says, his deep voice spilling through the court room to reach every single ear, "you have been brought before the Wizengamot today, twenty-second of July two thousand fifteen, to receive verdict on charges of escape from prison and necromancy."

Murmurs go around the room at his words and many people look towards where his family sits. James and Lupin slide down their seats slightly, unhappy with the attention, but Sirius adopts a cocky expression, Snape's scowl deepens, and Lily merely ignores them.

"The Wizengamot," Kingsley continues, "hereby finds you guilty of one count of escape from prison. On five counts of necromancy, special verdict has been reached by the jury. As presiding judge, given the unique facts of the case, I declare you not guilty on all five counts."

There are more than a few disgruntled mutters at this and dirty looks are thrown at Harry's family by people who don't believe, despite thorough medical and magical examination, that they're truly alive. Harry isn't relieved by it. There's still the jail break to be sentenced for, not to mention the prison sentence he's already supposed to be paying.

"As you are already sentenced to life imprisonment, the usual punishment for prison break would be increased security, however you are a singular individual, Mr Evans. We are all aware that no amount of security can possibly hold you against your will and you have already proven yourself unwilling to endure solitary confinement, or indeed any confinement."

Kingsley pauses, disapproving gaze firm on Harry and leaning forwards in his seat. "Simply put, we all know that you'll only stay in prison if you want to and no one wants to stay in prison. On top of that, the warden and guards of Azkaban don't want you there. In light of this, the Wizengamot has reached the decision to alter your previous sentence of life imprisonment for several counts of murder to exile instead. You will be given twenty-four hours to leave the country and from that point you will be forbidden to step foot on British land."

Harry's first reaction is a distinct lack of concern. He's perhaps a little disappointed; he did grow up in Britain and spend most of his life there, but on the whole he doesn't consider Britain his home anymore than any other country, not after four years of travelling around the world.

But then his gaze shifts to his family and something in his chest tightens painfully. He's only just got them all back; he doesn't want to lose them. He doesn't doubt for a minute that Draco would pack up and move somewhere else with him; in fact, judging by his expression, he's already composing his resignation for the hospital. Lily, as well, he thinks will probably be happy enough to live outside of the country, and he can see Sirius and Lupin exchanging looks that suggest they're considering it. But Snape and James, he knows, will stay. They have families here and Harry doubts Hermione or Narcissa are at all willing to leave just for the sake of him, especially not Hermione when her parents are here. Of course, there's always visits and it's not like he ever intended to house share with them all anyway so visiting is what it would have been, but he knows that inter-country visits won't be half as often as if they live in the same 90,000 square miles.

Is that it then, he wonders. Does he have to sacrifice seeing his family as often, or break his self-imposed rules and compel Kingsley to change his verdict while casting mass memory erasure? Is there no other option? Even if he came up with something, would they listen?

Then he does come up with something and he knows he has to at least voice the idea before he gives up or resorts to magic.

He tries to lift his arm, but forgets about the chains and the ringing sound of metal echoes through the room. It does what he intended and draws attention to him, which he's thankful for because he realises then that raising his hand would make him seem like a school boy.

"Is there something you'd like to say, Mr Evans?" Kingsley asks.

"Yes. I want to offer an alternative to exile or life in Azkaban."

Kingsley blinks at him. "An alternative?"

"Yes, sir."

"What alternative?"

"House arrest."

"No!"

Everyone looks around in surprise at Lily, who leans forwards in her seat with her hands gripping the railing in front of the bench so hard her knuckles are white. Harry's startled at the anger on her face at what he's suggesting.

Cyril Calais stands up on Kingsley's left. "What do you mean by house arrest?"

Harry drags his gaze away from his mother. He thinks the idea is pretty simple, but he doesn't say that because he doesn't want them to think he's mocking them. "I'll spend the rest of my life confined to my house and grounds. You can put monitoring charms up to make sure I don't leave."

He can see several members of the Wizengamot considering it, including Cyril. Lily still looks furious, but Harry can't for the life of him figure out why.

"Mr Evans, that would require you staying in the country," Kingsley says. "You don't have a home in Britain."

Harry glances over at Draco, who nods, then looks back. "I would live at Malfoy Manor."

"Why should we believe you will remain within your confines?" asks a Wizengamot witch. "Even with monitoring spells, your power is likely great enough to sneak out if you so desired."

"Why would you believe I would stay out of the country if you exiled me?" he asks back, which apparently at least half of the Wizengamot hadn't even considered if their expressions are anything to go by. "Minister Shacklebolt has already said that we all know I've got power and you're all relying on my good will to obey the sentence handed down today. He's right that I won't stay in Azkaban; I did it before for a while but I've got people to stay out for now. I don't expect those people to follow me out of England, but none of you lot want me wondering around unchecked. With a house arrest, we're all satisfied. I don't have to leave my family, and you don't have to worry about where I might be and what I might be doing."

Another Wizengamot witch, this one older than the first, stands up. "Actually," she says rather smugly, "there's no need for us to bend to your whims at all."

She pauses, lifting her nose and smirking as all attention fixes on her. "I was at your last trial, Mr Evans. We had to rely on your good will then because you were marked with special runes that negated the effect of magic suppression. Clearly," she says with a gesture towards him, "that is no longer the case. We can suppress your magic and return you to Azkaban where you belong, whether you like it or not, as it should be."

"No."

It's Snape who speaks this time and he stands up, drawing the court's attention. "Extended use of magic suppression on my son will kill him. Last I checked, the Wizengamot doesn't use execution as a form of punishment."

"I concur," a vaguely familiar female voice says from the opposite row of spectators. The woman who stands looks familiar to Harry, but not until she says her name does he realise why. "Members of the Wizengamot, my name is Kirith Karpel. I'm a licensed medi-witch and primary healer to Harry Evans during his teenage years. I can confirm that extended use of magic suppression on him will cause death within six months."

Harry's disheartened to see that the Wizengamot witch doesn't appear concerned about this piece of information. Kingsley, thankfully, is.

"Professor Snape is correct; the Wizengamot does not use execution as a form of punishment and we will not set a precedent now."

"There's no reason he can't be kept in chains for periods at a time and given heavily guarded reprieves," the Wizengamot witch says. Harry really doesn't like her now. "We may not have capital punishment, but perhaps we should revive some older punishments. Minister, I believe the Department of Mysteries has several Dementors under—"

The rest of her sentence is inaudible under the sudden uproar of disapproval at her words. Harry himself shudders at the mere thought of being anywhere near a Dementor; he hasn't been close to one since he was thirteen and he's picked up a great deal of far worse memories since then. Despite his cured epilepsy, he has a feeling the Dementors will probably trigger constant seizures in him again. He doesn't know if angelically cured brain disorders can be brought back by anything other than angels, but he's got no wish to find out.

"Silence!"

It takes another minute for people to settle down, but eventually quiet falls over the courtroom. Kingsley turns a harsh look on the witch.

"Madam Branstone, we are wizards in the twenty-first century and we will not resort to outdated forms of criminal punishment."

Unfortunately, Madam Branstone is no longer alone in her beliefs. Someone of indeterminate gender stands up.

"Begging your pardon, Minister Shacklebolt, but it seems to me that if we're willing to make exceptions of one sort, why not another? Harry Evans is dangerous. The Dementors Kiss is, legally, still a permissible form of punishment for criminals convicted of the crimes to which Evans confessed eighteen years ago. If we're to consider commuting his sentence in favour of exile, we should also consider punishing him to the full extent of the law."

To Harry's utter horror, at least half of the Wizengamot seems to seriously consider the speaker's words.

"You can't be serious?!" Draco yells from the spectators bench. "You can't use bloody Dementors!"

"Be quiet, Mr Malfoy, or I will have you escorted from the court."

"The hell with that," Sirius snaps. "He's right. The Dementors joined Voldemort twenty years ago and now you want to consider bringing them back? Kingsley, you should know better!"

"It's unethical!" "Ethics, be damned; Evans is a danger to society. He's a freak of nature." "My son is not a freak, you piece of—" "—He's an exception among wizards, he should be held to different standards—" "—should have been Kissed years ago—" "—illegal... immoral... can't possibly consider it—"

Amidst all the shouting, it takes the court almost five minutes to realise when Harry Wishes off his chains and stands up. He doesn't speak, just stand there in front of his chair and waits for them to notice. Gradually silence falls over the room and a large number of people gape. Several look fearful, Madam Branstone among them.

"You shouldn't be able to remove those," she whispers, but her voice carries through the room. Harry ignores her.

"Eighteen years ago, Lord Voldemort was in charge of this Ministry, the only school of magic in Britain, and this entire country," he says calmly. "I shouldn't have to remind you of this, but he terrorised this country. He murdered and tortured innocent people. He coerced me into doing these things as well by putting a Word of Death Curse on the only adult at the time who loved me. I murdered Albus Dumbledore. You all know that and most of you probably consider it the most unforgivable murder I commited because Dumbledore was a sainted leader, for all his many flaws. If he hadn't died, it's probable that Voldemort wouldn't have achieved the power that he did, so I'm sure there are lots of you who blame me for that too."

He pauses, looking around at them all. The only sounds in the room are the scratching of a reporter's quill and the sounds of breathing, and every eye is fixed on him. Some people, he notices, are waiting with bated breath for him to continue.

"You all know the story of how Voldemort possessed me, too. For eighteen years I've pushed the death of Voldemort onto my dad. He's the one that cast the Killing Curse on me that killed Voldemort's soul, and I'm not going to change that. What Dad did was no doubt the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life and I'd wager that most of you in this room would never have the strength he had and been able to kill your child for the sake of saving the world."

He glances over at Snape, unsurprised to find his cheeks flushed but mouth still tight in a scowl, unhappy about the attention on him. Harry inhales deeply and looks forward again.

"But the fact remains that for all my Dad's strength, he wouldn't have killed Voldemort without me. I was the one who returned his wand to him while fighting for control of my body. More than that, when I was... not-dead, for lack of a better term, I was the one who stopped Voldemort's soul from returning to my body instead of me. That could have happened," he says, and murmurs ripple through the room then because this is news to all of them but Lily. "Even after that Killing Curse, Voldemort could have come back and I would have been dead. He would have taken over Draco Malfoy's body and continued his reign of terror on this earth.

"But he didn't. I came back instead and then I killed his body, ensuring that he could _never_ return—" there's no need to mention his time as a demon "—and I never once asked for credit. I didn't want glory or praise or rewards or any of the things that I probably could have demanded, and I'm not asking for it now. All I want is for you to remember that I'm the reason you all have your freedom today."

Silence continues after he's finished until he sits down again, making it clear that he has nothing more to say. Kingsley clears his throat.

"Mr Evans, we are very grateful for your part in the defeat of Lord Voldemort, but while you claim to be asking for no credit, you evidently expect us to be lenient on you because of it, despite your violent and extensive crimes."

"You want me to be punished for the things I did at Voldemort's command."

"You ought to be."

Harry lifts a hand in the air. A few people flinch. He ignores them. Above his head, a large screen appears and everyone looks up with curiosity as images flicker on it. There are a few stifled screams and gasps when Voldemort appears, but everyone watches as the scene plays out like a video. Harry doesn't, but he doesn't need to because it's all inside his head and he's busy trying to keep his hallucinations of Riddle out of the memory as it plays out.

There's him, on the floor of Malfoy Manor, with Voldemort lounging in a chair and Nagini curled underneath it. Harry's wrists are bound in chains and his foot is very obviously broken, while there's blood trickling out of his mouth and his face is clammy and pale. The Assistant is on the floor nearby with Lucius Malfoy and Preston Yaxley standing not far away.

"Lucius, take Harry away," Voldemort says, and the people in the court shudder at his voice. "I am done with him. The Assistant will tell me everything I need with half as much trouble."

"He won't tell you anything," Harry says even as Lucius approaches him, but he doesn't sound sure and Voldemort sneers.

"Preston will make the Assistant talk whether he wants to or not."

"What's going to happen to me?"

"I will not kill you. You can die when the hounds of hell come for you; until then, you can remain here as a prisoner while I work to take your impressive magic from you and I shall allow my _loyal_ Death Eaters to punish you for your treachery as they see fit. Lucius, take him to the cellar."

Lucius nods stiffly and levitates Harry down to the secret room in the cellar, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor and leaving without a word, shutting Harry in the room with no light.

The screen goes blank then, but not for long. A new memory comes up, still in the cellar, a torch flickering on the wall to show Harry on the floor, still chained but now also naked, bloody, and bruised, his left eye missing so the lid hangs loosely over the socket. There's a man there too, large with a broad face, a thin moustache, thick eyebrows, and one eye covered by a black patch. There a knife in his hand.

"Walden Macnair," he hears someone whisper.

Macnair approaches Harry in the memory and chains rattle as Harry shifts, whimpering.

"You're going to pay for taking my eye out. Just like they say—an eye for an eye."

"No—no, please—"

Harry can't help flinching at the sound of his own voice, desperate and terrified, and blinks hard, resisting the urge to lift his hands and double check there are two eyes in his face. On the screen, Macnair crouches and grabs Harry by the jaw, dulling the begging cries but not enough to silence them completely, and lifts the knife slowly, moving it tauntingly closer to Harry's eye until the tip is a mere millimetre from it. Harry is utterly still and silent now, at least until Macnair pushes the knife forward and he screams.

Several of the watchers scream as well, jumping in their seats, and the memory goes black. Harry ignores them, even when he gets to his feet and moves over to where his family sits. He pretends not to notice the tears in Lily, Hermione, and Draco's eyes, or the pure fury on Sirius and Lupin's faces, and focuses his attention on Snape, whose face is scarily blank.

"May I access your memories?"

Snape nods jerkily once and holds his gaze firmly. Harry meets resistance at first as Snape instinctively Occludes, but it gives way to let Harry into his memories.

"The day I got out," he murmurs, and almost immediately a memory comes forth of him lying in the ruins of Spinner's End. He can't help his own small gasp of surprise at the sight, something he's never really seen through his sheer refusal to look at himself when he'd been in such a state. But it's exactly what he needs and he projects the image onto the screen. He hears a muffled sob from Lily and turns away so he's got an excuse not to look at his family anymore. He doesn't look up at the screen, but he leaves the still image there—him, lying on the ground, so starved he makes Death look well-fed, covered in blood, bruises, and cuts, both his eyes missing.

"You wanted me to be punished for what I did," he says to Kingsley, and he's glad to hear his voice is steady. "Well, I was. Voldemort made sure of it."

Kingsley glances between him and the image on screen and swallows thickly. Someone in the Wizengamot vomits.

"I killed Voldemort a month after that," he says with a gesture at the screen. "Then I let you lock me in prison for eight years. I broke out and while I'm not willing to discuss what happened in the ten years since, I can promise you that it has been unpleasant until the last couple of months. I haven't been living in luxury like you probably think."

He waves a hand and the screen vanishes. His hands are beginning to shake and he knows he won't be able to carry on much longer.

"I've been punished for what I did in ways none of you can imagine. I've paid for it and now I'm not asking for much. All I want is to be able to live in peace with my lover and my daughter. Nothing more." He inhales shakily and almost whispers his last few words, though they still fill the entire courtroom. "At this point, I think I deserve it."

He struggles not to cry as he sits and waits for the Wizengamot to deliberate over his punishment, yet another unwelcome effect of have his soul rejoined. He felt negative emotions badly enough before; he doesn't like the idea of living the rest of his life feeling all those things at twice the strength.

"Mr Evans?"

He looks up, inhaling shakily and letting it out slowly, and waits to hear the verdict.

"The Wizengamot has made its decision. The sentence of life imprisonment in Azkaban will be altered to house arrest. You will be escorted to Malfoy Manor after it has been thoroughly inspected by Aurors and subject to Monitoring Charms. Court is adjoined."

* * *

 

**8th October**

"I hate you," Harry says to Draco, sitting on a bench in the Malfoy Manor gardens in the evening, his eyes fixed on Kitty as she clings to a broom and laughs delightedly, whizzing around the garden just high enough that her toes skim the ground, her red cloak flying behind her and a large badge pinned to her jumper that proclaims her the birthday girl.

Draco wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses Harry's cheek, grinning. "No you don't."

"Why?" Harry whines. "Why did I let you convince me to get her a broom?"

"Because she should have a broom. I had a broom when I was three."

Harry grunts. Personally he thinks Kitty would be fine without a broom until she's eleven. Higher above her, nine year old Vega and Maddy ("I'm ten in ten days!") are whizzing about on their own brooms, ignoring their parents' orders not to go too high. Nero is on the ground, content to sit with his sketchbook and pencils, while five year old Cailean stomps around the garden, dressed up like a bear and growling in what he clearly thinks is a ferocious manner, at least until Padfoot bounds onto him and he shrieks with laughter.

"Sirius, if you hurt my son I will have you snipped," Snape warns, sitting in a chair between Hermione and Lupin. Hermione has a sleeping two year old Sabrina on her lap and laughs at the hurt look Padfoot shoots Snape. Harry can't help smiling himself, dragging his gaze from Kitty to look at the rest of the adults sat around the crackling fire that's charmed to keep the kids getting too close. He shares a bench with Draco, who has Tyler sprawled in a chair next to him, while Lily lounges in a chair on Harry's right, Sirius' empty chair between her and Narcissa, who shares a bench with James while Lupin is between them and Snape.

Times like this, when all Harry's family is together—and he really does consider every one of them as family—are the moments Harry's at his happiest. Sometimes his house arrest bothers him and he just wishes he could get out, visit Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or even go to some far reaching country to see things he's only ever read about, but his family keeps him from breaking his confines, reminding him that he has something to stay for. Even Lily agrees he shouldn't leave, despite her misgivings that his punishment is too much like his self-imposed house arrest when he was in Elsewhere. He was the one to suggest house arrest in the first place, after all, and it really isn't that bad when he has a house as large as Malfoy Manor and the extensive grounds to roam when he wants fresh air. He has a big, happy family, and if it's a bit odd that his mother is biologically fifteen years younger than him, or that his father is in a relationship with his oldest friend, or that his daughter is seven months older than her youngest aunt... well, his life was never what anyone would call normal anyway. He has them and he's happy, and that's what matters most.

* * *

 

**Halloween**

Just before nightfall, four Aurors escort Lucius Malfoy from his cell in Azkaban to an individual cell in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, rebuilt after being destroyed by Harry over ten years earlier. Though still a windowless, square stone room intersected with a row of bars, there are now heavy enchantments on the walls, which are also inscribed with every known demon warding sigil. An iron devil's trap is screwed into the floor, the full diameter of the room, and goofer dust is laid on the floor along all four walls, charmed to remain in place no matter what might disturb it. A metal framed bed sits in the middle of the prisoner side, with a chamber pot off to one side, and Lucius is left with a bottle of water and a tray holding his dinner.

"If you're still alive come morning," Nymphadora Tonks says to him before Apparating away, "you'll be taken back to Azkaban. Have a good night."

Lucius knows most of them are hoping he won't survive the night, but Ministry regulations and recent civil rights laws state that they have to protect prisoners from known threats against their lives. The only reason he's here instead of heavily protected in Azkaban is because someone did their research properly and they don't want any hellhounds tearing their way through guards and prisoners to get at Lucius.

The next five hours pass agonisingly fast for Lucius, who doesn't touch his food, his water, or the bed. He paces the room, inspects the sigils and trap, and jumps at every slight noise from outside. He has a pocket watch, given to him by Draco that morning when he came to visit Lucius one last time. He's the only one to come, though Lucius spends the whole day hoping to see Narcissa, thinking that she'll at least come to him on the last day of his life. Whatever problems between them, he sold his soul for their son and he thought she would at least come and acknowledge that, but she never shows up.

By midnight, Lucius is shaking all over, pocket watch trembling in his hand. He snaps it shut when the hands strike twelve and collapses onto the bed, legs too weak to hold him up any longer. He stares at the floor, waiting for the baying of the hounds and the crash of the bricks as they smash through the walls, but the seconds drag out and they never come.

"I thought this might happen."

Lucius leaps up, whirling around so fast he staggers and almost falls. He clutches his pocket watch in a tight fist and stares wild-eyed at the woman opposite him.

"What _are_ you?"

"You can see my reaper's visage then, can you?" Lily Evans says to him. She sits on a simple wooden chair, dressed in Muggle clothes. "I wondered if you'd still be able to when the hounds aren't coming for you. I'm... well, it's hard to be sure. Human reaper? Reaper human? The simplest thing is I'm a reaper inside of a human body. Death tells me this has never happened before so I'm something a bit new, which is quite exciting really."

"How did you get in here, Mudblood?" he demands, trying and failing to sound in control.

"I thought of a soul and came to it," she answers simply. "It's a nifty little trick that reapers have, very useful for breaking into highly secure government facilities to visit men who deserve to die."

Lucius looks down and shakily opens his pocket watch. "A minute past."

"Yes."

"The hounds should be here."

"Yes."

He looks up. "Why aren't they?"

Lily sighs. "Because, like every other demon, they're trapped in hell. When Harry shut the gates back in June, he made it impossible for demons to leave. There was the slightest possibility that creatures like hellhounds could leave and thus hunt down their prey, but clearly that's not the case. No," she adds.

"No?"

"No."

"What are you talking about, woman?" Lucius demands.

"That little thought inside your head right now, Lucius, get rid of it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. That little growing spark of hope that you're going to get out of this alive and escape paying on your demon deal."

Lucius' jaw clenches. Lily flicks lint from her jeans and gets to her feet, tugging her shirt and jacket straight and brushing her hair behind her ears. The bed in the middle of the room screeches suddenly as it hurtles across the floor and crashes into the wall. Lucius flinches violently, stepping back as Lily approaches.

"You're not leaving this room alive, Lucius Malfoy."

"Is that right?" he sneers, though the effect is somewhat ruined by his tense muscles and fearful eyes. "You said the hounds aren't coming for me; do you plan to kill me yourself? You? An undead Mudblood? You're one of the 'good guys'. You wouldn't kill an unarmed man."

She smiles at him. "I'm also a reaper, and one who's not currently subject to Death's law. More over, you are supposed to die and I bargained away Elton John to get your name on my list."

Lucius' expression is blank. "Who?"

"A brilliant Muggle singer that I really wanted to reap when he dies, that's who. So the fact that the hell hounds are trapped is not going to prevent me from ensuring that your pale, saggy, prejudiced backside gets sent to hell."

She steps forwards and her expression is hard and unforgiving now. Something lashes against Lucius' back and sends him to his knees as long vines burst out of the ground and walls to wrap around his wrists, jerking his arms out to either side and sending his pocket watch clattering to the floor, while more wrap around his legs, holding him in place while a final thick vine coils around his neck and forces his head up to look at her.

"You locked my husband in a cellar for fourteen years. Twice you aided in the capture of my son, and then you double-crossed him and left him half-dead in the ground for six years with the intention of letting him die. You worked for the madman who killed me and the one selfless thing you did in your entire life doesn't make up for every bad thing you've done."

She leans over him and Lucius stares at her, hyper aware that judgement is being brought down on him by an agent of Death, finally realising right down to his core that he is going to die and completely and utterly terrified about the fact.

"They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Lucius. I'd like to say they're wrong. I've been to hell many times and I can assure you it is a foul, _foul_ place, and I can't begin to say what it's like right now when all the demons are trapped and furious. But while I may not be able to inflict on you the tortures that hell will, I am still sending you there, so perhaps the phrase is accurate."

She turns and stalks back to her chair, sits down and crosses one leg over the other, then clicks her fingers. The vines vanish and Lucius sags, slumping to the floor. He pushes himself up again and his face turns deathly pale as a huge, vicious black dog appears right in front of him, eyes glowing bright red and drool dripping from its snarling jaws.

"Tell Crowley that Harry sends his regards," Lily says, and the dog leaps.

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks, complete with the happy ending I promised. (Possibly promised. I know I mentioned it in a few review replies on FFN, but don't recall if I've mentioned it publically anywhere.) Justice is served, Harry and his family are alive, and they're happy.
> 
> As for what happens next, I'll make a post on tumblr (forthepriceofasoul.tumblr.com) with a few notes on the futures of the characters, but I am not likely to write anything more for this universe.
> 
> Reviews are, of course, always appreciated, but even if you don't review, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Nov' 2015: There is now a one-shot sequel. You know where to find it. :)


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